we will be the last ones standing
by Morghen
Summary: Oneshot. 200th M&MWP. "Just as Regulus thinks that his life will be set exactly in his parents' plans, he meets a certain Prewett." Rated 'T' for a reason. Won 1st place in Thanatos Angelos Girl's Regulus Black competition on HPFC. Voted "Best Slash Fic" and "Best Marauders Slash" for the The Couture Awards 2012.


**I never put Author's Notes at the beginning, but I wanted to put a little warning here so... This is rated "T" and is a HEAVY T! **

**So, without further ado, I would like to introduce you all to a story that has taken me seven months and four days to write, Regideon:**

* * *

_**"love is a heavy kiss when you don't deserve it**_  
_**it forgives, forgets, it never turns its back on you."**_

_(Meg & Dia: Love Is)_

You stand there, stuck in place, your feet feeling as if they're made of lead, your hand slowly lowering itself back to your side. And he, he just walks away (right past you), surrounded by his friends (the people he wishes were his brothers). He acts as if he hadn't seen you, as if you're just some ghost of his past (the past that he would give anything to forget and you would give anything to go back to).

You blink back the tears that come to your grey orbs because you're too _fucking_ old to cry, because you've brought this upon yourself, because you don't want him to realize you care _this_ much.

"He's hurting just as much as you are," says a voice behind you.

You spin around and see a flame of red hair and a pair of blue eyes filled with (unwanted) empathy. "How do you know?" Your words sound harsher than you planned, but the stranger doesn't seem the least bit offended by them – he actually grins.

"I can tell" is all that the elder boy says. And just like that, with his sympathetic smile and his empathetic eyes, he pats you on the back and walks away.

**xxx**

You're leaning against the trunk of a tree on the school grounds when he approaches you again. You pretend as though you don't see him because you're not in the mood to deal with people (you never r_eally_ are). But he just walks up and takes a seat beside you as if the two of you actually know each other.

"You need a friend," he tells you rather abruptly without a greeting. You lift your head up and discover that his eyes are already on you and a grin is already playing on his lips.

"I don't _need_ anybody."

"You need your brother."

His words catch you off guard and all hope is lost for a witty reply so you just purse your lips. A deep breath in clears your head of all the curses that you wouldn't have minded using at the moment. "How do you know?"

The redhead just shrugs his shoulders but doesn't answer your question. "I'll be your friend," he states, and reaching forward to offer his hand, adds, "Gideon Prewett."

**xxx **

"What are you doing?" The words roll off the tip of your tongue coated thickly with annoyance and without welcome. But he doesn't care – he never seems to care. With a smile and a wink, he just pushes a new bottle of butterbeer beside your empty one and slides into the seat across from you.

"Well, friends usually go to Hogsmeade together, y'know?"

Your cold grey eyes narrow with irritation because he just doesn't get it. He doesn't get that you're not the type of person he would want to be around – that you're not your brother. "If you knew me better, you wouldn't actually want to be my friend."

"How do you know?"

You look up at him – your eyes no longer unwelcoming and your face no longer twisted into a scowl. His words, echoing through your ears, shake your feeling of indifference towards him and suddenly (much to your dismay) you feel almost vulnerable. You feel (and well, feeling _anything's_ a problem) as if maybe he's right… Maybe you're only alone because you choose to be… Maybe not everyone would shy away from your vices…

"I'm Regulus Black." And when your hands meet and the promise of friendship is formed, you've never felt something so right in your life.

**xxx **

"Tell me about your brother."

You look up from the essay you've been writing for the past hour and glance at him. Although he doesn't have (or isn't doing) any schoolwork, Gideon offered to accompany you to the library. He's already looking at you with those blue eyes and that grin of his. "No."

"Why?"

You move your eyes back down to the parchment on the table and pick up your quill. "You wouldn't understand."

You see him nodding his head solemnly from the corner of your eye – the grin no longer on his face. "I bet I would," he says softly, but he doesn't push the subject any further.

**xxx **

You push your eggs around on your plate as you think about the upcoming Potions exam. Like every morning since your newfound friendship, Gideon sits across from you (not caring that, with his scarlet hair and his dark red scarf, he doesn't exactly fit at the emerald table). You can feel his eyes on you (along with some others who haven't quite gotten used to your companion).

"What do you do for fun?"

You shrug your shoulders. "Quidditch."

"I like Quidditch."

This catches your attention because Quidditch is the only thing you're any good at (playing or even talking about). "I didn't know you played." He's not on Gryffindor's team, after all.

"I don't."

"I could teach you." Your words come out almost _too_ eagerly and, by the look on his face, you aren't the only one who thinks so. But he just smiles at you (you think it's because he's excited to learn, when really he's excited that he's finally found a way to reach you – the real you).

"I'd like that," he says.

**xxx **

"No, you did good," you tell him as you two head back to the castle. Despite the rain, which finally stopped your game, you can honestly say that this was the first time you've felt some sort of happiness in a long time (since the days before green and red even mattered).

"You're not a very good liar," he teases.

Well, maybe he isn't the best flier at Hogwarts, you'll admit. Not to mention the fact that he spent more time on the ground than on the broom… But as you turn and smile at him, those things don't even matter. All that matters is this, _this_ feeling that has spread over you – something so different from the loneliness with which your first five years at Hogwarts were filled.

And when he grins back at you, a warm feeling courses through your body and you find yourself wondering if this is what friendship feels like. "You just need more practice," you assure him.

His handsome face twists into a grimace as he clutches his sore arm. "I dunno about that."

**xxx **

Is this how it's supposed to be like?

Are you supposed to wonder where he is when he's not with you? Are you supposed to feel all lightheaded and…dare you think…some sort of _giddiness _when you catch sight of him? Are you supposed to feel a wave of warmth course through your body every time he smiles at you? And a splash of coldness every time he smiles at someone else? Are you supposed to think about his blue eyes and his red hair all the time?

The more you ask yourself these questions, the more confused you feel. You haven't the slightest clue what friendship is supposed to be like and you're afraid that maybe these feelings of yours are too…too _extreme_ to be merely friendship… Maybe it's just because you're so happy not to be alone anymore… Maybe you're just over-thinking things… Maybe not…

**xxx **

You feel the wet ground underneath your feet as you dismount your broom, your legs shivering so badly that you find it difficult to stand. You had wanted to stay in the castle during this cold, rainy November afternoon, but Gideon had other plans. He had reminded you about how you _promised_ him or something to try and teach him Quidditch again since the last time wasn't much of a success. Why he wanted to learn today of all days, you don't know, but here you are.

You look up at the pitch, the rain making it hard to see anything, and try to find where he went. You spot him by the goals, looking down at you, and he's just as soaked as you are. "C-come on, Gideon!" you shout to him, your teeth chattering loud enough for everyone in the castle to hear.

Although his flying has definitely improved since the last time you tried to help, he fumbles to land beside you and ends up knocking you off your feet before you can move away. With a thud, you both crash to the ground - you landing roughly on your back and he on his stomach.

You start to yell something about how he should watch where he's trying to land, but your reprimand is soon forgotten when your eyes meet his (sapphire and steel) and you realize just how close he is to you (lips merely seconds apart). You can feel his warm breath tickle your frozen cheeks as he hesitantly exhales and you can see him move a hair towards you before shaking his head and standing up.

"We should, um, get back to the castle." His voice sounds flustered and there's coloring on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold.

You force yourself to nod as you rise to join him. A million thoughts are racing through your head, each one wondering what in Merlin's name just happened.

**xxx **

You didn't really w_ant_ to, right?

You keep asking yourself this same question over and over again. What had (almost) happened earlier was just…a misunderstanding… It had to be.

As you lay in your bed, the mere idea of it seems otherworldly to you.

There's no way he almost kissed you.

There's no way you (almost) wanted him to.

**xxx **

"You weren't at the breakfast table," you say after you finally find him in the corridors while you were heading to your next class. You hadn't seen him all day (since that Quidditch practice) and it wasn't like him not to at least have breakfast with you.

"I slept too late." No smile. His eyes barely meet yours.

You sense a lie but don't bother to call him out on it. "Then I guess I'll see you later."

He shakes his head at your words. "I'm actually busy today - Fabian has something for me to do..."

You nod once in acknowledgement, but make no other reply. And with that, he turns and leaves, leaving you with an aching feeling in your stomach and nagging thoughts in your mind.

**xxx **

A week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours.

Without him.

It seems so strange to you that you feel this loneliness when he's not around, especially since you never wanted his company in the first place. But you do feel it and even if you can't quite explain the reasoning behind this feeling, it's definitely there (filling your heart, plaguing your mind). It's as if his presence brought out a part of you that you never knew existed and then his absence took it away.

You need that part of you.

But that feeling of emptiness isn't the only thing that bothers you about this. It's more that he never told you why - never told you what went wrong. He just left - no explanations. You could handle it if you at least knew why...

And that's why you know there's only one thing left to do: confront him.

**xxx**

The chilling November breeze ruffles through your lengthy hair and nips at your face as you walk through the sparsely occupied streets of Hogsmeade. Everyone seems to be packed into the warm shelter of the Three Broomsticks, but not you. No, you have something to do - someone to find.

Just as you expected, you see him leaving the joke shop that he makes a point to visit every Hogsmeade trip. You take large strides towards the turned back of the Gryffindor, tapping your gloved hand on his shoulder once you reach him.

Gideon turns around with a start and looks rather uncomfortable as he sees who is in front of him. "I can't really talk right now," he says quickly and heads to the alley between Zonko's and another building.

You hurry after him, taking hold of his hand and stopping him from walking any further. "We need to talk."

He frees himself from your grip and says, "I don't think we should." But he doesn't leave.

"Did I do something wrong?"

His eyes fix themselves on his shoes. "I just don't think we should be friends."

"Why?" Your words leave your mouth louder than he expected and his words hurt your heart more than you expected.

His jaw clenches and his reddened face takes on a pained look. His eyes move slowly up from the ground and lock with yours and those sapphires are just pleading with you. "Don't ask me, Regulus."

"Just tell me."

He turns his head away from you and exhales deeply, his warm breath contrasting with the cold air. He chooses his words slowly and you can hear something like embarrassment in his voice. "I don't feel like a friend to you... I didn't know what it was..." He pauses and then forces the rest of the words out, "But when I almost kissed you the other day, I realized that I - well, like you _that _way."

You stay rooted to the spot, dumbfounded. The words he said are so, so wrong (what would your parents think?), and yet they stir up a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes you rather dizzy.

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," he says, a grave look on his face as he takes your silence as an ill sign.

"Wait" is the only word you can manage to say as your thoughts race. The thought of your parents and the disappointment you would become to them infect every feeling of happiness from his confession.

But what if they don't find out?

But what if you actually do something for yourself?

"But what if I feel the same way?"

A smile slowly spreads across his face.

**xxx **

"I hate the snow," you say to him as the two of you take a walk through the grounds. The first snowfall of the year does not help your already low spirits, which came along with getting a poor score on your Transfiguration test.

"How can you hate the snow?" he asks in mock horror. His attempts to cheer you up have failed all afternoon, but he refuses to give up. Picking up a handful of snow in his gloved hands, he looks at you with a sly grin on his face.

"Don't," you warn him sternly. The last thing you want is a bloody snowball fight. You slowly back away from him, giving him an unimpressed look. "I'm not in the mood."

With a laugh, Gideon throws the snowball at you before you have a chance to move out of its path. It hits you square in the face, surprising the both of you.

He stares at you in shock as you wipe the snow from your eyes. "I didn't mean - um, sorry about that..." He steps closer to you and helps wipe the remaining snow off your face. "Don't be mad at me," he says nervously.

You don't answer as you take the snow in your hand and, laughing, quickly smear it across his face. He grabs your arm and somehow you both end up in the snow, wrestling around, your laughs ringing throughout Hogwarts' grounds.

It ends with you pinned underneath him, both out of breath. "I thought you hated the snow," he teases as he smiles down at you.

"It's not _as _bad with you, I suppose," you answer, smiling back at him. "But that first snowball did hurt my cheek," you add, with a pout.

"Will a kiss make it better?" Gideon says, playing along with you. He leans forward and lightly pecks both red-tinged cheeks. He pauses, hovering over your lips, waiting what seems like forever to you before he finally presses his lips against yours.

Maybe snow isn't that bad, after all...

**xxx **

You walk into the warm shelter of the Three Broomsticks after having been in the frosty December wind. The trip down to Hogsmeade was one of the coldest you can remember and you let out a sigh of relief as you feel the heat radiating from the fireplace.

You find an empty table in the crowded pub as Gideon goes to get some drinks. You think about how much everything has changed since the last time you were here (unwillingly) with him. Never in a million years would you have thought you would care for (let alone be friends with) someone like him (or that someone like him would ever care for someone like you).

He comes back with a butterbeer in each hand and takes a seat beside you. He sets them down and slides his chair closer to yours - leaving little room between the two.

"Shouldn't you sit across from me?" you say, looking around at the nearly full pub.

"Why?"

You sigh as you think of the best way to word your feelings. "It's just that...it doesn't look good." You bring your voice down to a whisper so only he can hear what comes from your mouth next. "I don't want anyone to think...well, you know... I thought you didn't either." Your grey eyes move to his face and, though he tries to hide it, you can still see the pain your words have caused.

Without reply, he moves to the other side of the table. By the look on his face you can tell that you've ruined the trip to which you both had been looking forward. You nudge his foot underneath the table, but he neither grins nor retaliates.

"I didn't mean to make you mad" is the closest thing to an apology you can manage.

He forces a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. "I'm not mad, really... I just wish things could be different, you know?"

You nod solemnly in agreement. If only things were easy, but things have never been easy for you and you don't expect them to be now. You nudge his foot again and this time he smiles and nudges yours back.

That smile of his is what makes this worth it to you. You've never before been the reason for someone's smile - not like that.

**xxx**

"What are you doing for break?" he asks you. As usual, you two are in the library, but you've already finished the work that you brought. The time you have spent in this secluded corner of the vast room has taught you that other students scarcely come near it. The table is small, the chairs are wobbly, but the privacy is perfect for such a forbidden pair.

"I dunno," you tell him. Your head is leaning comfortably against his shoulder as he plays with the ends of your lengthy hair. Sleep is heavy on your eyelids, but you can't quite bring yourself to leave his company. "Why?"

"I was just thinking that, maybe, I could stay at your house for a few days... Just as friends, you know?"

"No," you say quickly, moving your head and looking at him wide-eyed. The mere thought of having him at your home makes you feel sick to your stomach. There would be no way you could act like the person your parents wish you to be and the person Gideon knows at the same time. Not to mention if your mother goes into one of her fits... "No," you repeat. "You wouldn't want to be there..."

He gives you a quizzical look but doesn't push the matter further. "It was just an idea... You could stay at my house, but Molly and her husband will be there and there's not much spare room, really..." He sighs and takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

"We could always stay here," you suggest. It would be the first holiday that you spend away from Grimmauld Place, but with Sirius no longer returning with you, you've been hesitant to go back anyway. The summer had been filled with harsh words and days of your mother taking out her wrath on you for your brother's absence and you have been dreading going back to such a place.

"That could work," Gideon says with a grin.

**xxx**

His red locks brush against and tickle your neck as he leans his head on your shoulder. The two of you have been spending more and more time in that corner of the library as the weather is now too cold to spend much time outdoors. You push away the essay you have finally completed after a few grueling hours and sigh.

"I wish we could go back to the common room," he says, moving his head from your shoulder and resting it upon his folded arms on the table.

You know what he means. The novelty of the secluded table has nearly worn off after many hours of sitting in the uncomfortable chairs. Not to mention wondering whether or not Madame Pince is snooping around the bookshelves. "There'll only be two or three other Slytherins staying over vacation." You rest your head down beside his and he smiles at you when your eyes meet. "And I'll be the only sixth-year..."

"Maybe I'll have to come down to the dungeons then," Gideon says with an impish grin and a cocked eyebrow. He hooks his foot around the leg of your chair and slides you closer to him, kissing you once in reach.

It starts out slow and sweet, but soon the kiss is deepened and, with a hand on your back, he draws you even closer to him. You love his kisses - they show you a sort of tenderness you never imagined could exist. But this time they're different (more urgent) and you can practically taste his yearning for something more.

And your suspicion is confirmed when one of his hands makes its way down from your hair (sliding over your cheek, neck, side, hip) and finally reaching its desired destination at your belt. Your mind spins and you're so, so _dizzy_ (ecstasy coursing through your veins) as he grasps you in his hand. The low moan that escapes you is like music to his very ears and he breaks away from your lips to give you one of those grins of his.

All of this is just pure pure bliss. That is, of course, until your secluded corner of the library becomes discovered.

"Gideon!" exclaims a surprised voice.

You break away and both look over to where the intruder stands. Your jaw slackens and your cheeks redden as you see the familiar face.

"Oh...hey, Fabian," chokes out a rather embarrassed Gideon.

**xxx**

"_How could you be with one of them?_"

Those words ring in your ears and are imprinted in your mind. It hadn't been the ideal way to be introduced to Gideon's twin brother, but by Fabian's reaction it seems as if it wouldn't have mattered where Gideon's hand had been at the time (or that you're a wizard). No, all that had mattered to the elder brother was your last name.

"_Fabian, don't_" were the only words that left Gideon's mouth.

"_You can't be an Auror, Gid, if you're messing around with him. You know who his cousin is, don't you?_"

You had just stood still, gritting your teeth and trying not to react to his words. You tried, you really did, but before you could stop yourself, "_You don't know shit about me_" left your lips and Gideon's face fell.

"_I know enough about your family to get a good idea of you._"

You just stopped and gave him a cold look. You didn't want to see Gideon get even more upset - it just wasn't worth it. And, though you would have never admitted it, you knew he had a point (maybe that's what made his words sting so badly).

**xxx**

"He hates me."

"No," Gideon says as he watches his twin leave Hogwarts and go home for winter break. "He just doesn't know you."

You give him a skeptical look and he just smiles because he knows it's true. "He hates me."

**xxx**

"Reg, wake up!"

You feel him shake your arm, trying to wake you from your deep sleep. Gideon had spent the night cuddled closely with you after having complained about how lonely he was in his empty dormitory. With only three other Slytherins lurking about the common room, it had been rather easy to sneak him up to your bed.

Since you still have yet to open your eyes, he starts shaking you more frantically. "Regulus," he draws out. "It's Christmas!"

You continue to keep your eyes closed shut, but an uncontrollable grin spreads across your face, giving you away. "You sound like a little kid," you tease, finally looking up at him.

He sticks his tongue out at you and slides off the bed. "Dumbledore must know I'm down here," he says, almost to himself, as he looks at his pile of presents which are placed next to your own.

You shrug your shoulders and leave your bed to join him sitting on the floor. Your number of presents is considerably smaller than his, but it doesn't bother you. Your family has never been one to get into the Christmas spirit anyway.

When he finishes opening his gifts, he gets up and rummages through the bag he brought down with him. After a moment's searching, he pulls out a small wrapped box and hands it to you with a smile. "Here you go."

"You said we weren't buying each other presents," you state, not only embarrassed at not getting him a present, but also slightly upset that he got you one anyway. "I would've gotten you something if I knew...," you add sheepishly.

"No, I said not to get _me_ anything. I never said I wasn't getting you anything," he states with a smile. He sits down close beside you and kisses your cheek. "Besides, I already got what I wanted for Christmas...you."

"That's not much of a present," you protest.

"Is too," he says with a soft kiss. When he pulls slowly away, your eyes meet and an impish grin spreads across his face. He pushes the present out of your lap and moves over you, reclaiming your lips. This time the kiss is far from soft. He rests his weight on his knees, which are placed one on either side of you, leaving his hands free to explore. "I have a better present, actually," he whispers in your ear.

And that's when it all starts. His hands roam your body - his fingers taking their sweet, sweet time to undo each and every button on your shirt, which gets quickly discarded once it comes free (as do the rest of both of your clothes, after a moments struggle). He plants dizzying kisses all over you as he makes his way down, teasing you with every touch.

A shudder runs through you and your fingers tangle themselves in his fiery locks. The moan that escapes you urges him on more and you're surprised to find out that he can possibly make it better than it previously was.

Pleasure.

You're still in a rather muddled state of mind as he makes his way back up - taking special care to taste every inch of skin that he possibly can manage. He moves a hand to your hair and moves his lips to a sensitive spot on your neck, getting the low guttural response for which he hoped.

And suddenly a feeling washes over you, almost animalistic in a sense. A feeling longing for something more than merely kissing and touching - a feeling only that Gryffindor hovering over you can possibly satisfy. "Gid" is all that you manage to say and all that he needs to hear.

His eyes lock with yours. "Do you want to...?"

One nod is all that he waits for. Soon you are both on your bed and that's where it all really begins (something much more satisfying than the messing around that you two have done before). Soon both of your movements become in sync and change from slow and steady to something much faster and more urgent.

Bedsheets clutched tightly in your hands.

His teeth nipping your neck and then kissing the marks they leave.

A type of music filling your ears that's so raw and beautiful at the same time.

And when it's all over with the flame of ecstasy that had ignited your body is now extinguished, he leans his head on your chest while you both try to catch your breath. His lips are turned up into a barely visible smile and, though it's not as wide as usual, it lights up his whole face - a degree of perfection that you've never before witnessed.

And it's there because of you.

**xxx**

It's later in the same day when you return to the dormitory from a mission that he sent you on: find as many sweets as you possibly can. After visiting the house-elves in the kitchen, you have plenty of food for the two of you. When you push through the door, you catch a glimpse of something that hadn't been there when you left. "What is that?"

Gideon's head pokes through the opening of the thing. "It's a tent - well, a blanket tent, but same idea." He leaves his creation to take the bag full of goods in one hand and your wrist in the other and leads you inside. By the size you can tell that the only magic he used was to hold it up. There are two blankets, two pillows, and barely enough room for anything else.

"The more time I spend with you, the more you remind me of a child," you tease.

"It's no fun to grow up," he says, sticking out his tongue. He sets the food down and pulls you closer to him, taking both of your hands in his. Your faces are close and his nose brushes up against yours, triggering a smile to spread across his handsome face. "Do you like it?" His voice, low and playful, still manages to give you as many butterflies as it did when you first met.

You nod with a grin and he gives you a light peck. You sit down and he does the same, your hand still held in his.

"I wanted today - all day - to be special 'cause, you know, it was your first time and such."

This makes you laugh a bit because it's just too nice and just too Gideon and you love it. You feel your cheeks slightly redden as you think back to what had happened earlier this morning. And then something he said dawns on you. "Today wasn't your first time, was it?"

He shakes his head.

"Well, how many people...?" Your voice has this accusatory edge and you hate it. You have no need to be upset and you hadn't expected him to be a virgin, but hearing it out loud bothers you more than it should.

"Not counting you...um, three...no, four." He turns to you and gives you a sheepish grin. "You're the first bloke, though."

You say nothing as you draw your hand away from his and bring your knees up, resting your chin on them. You detest this feeling, this jealous wave that has washed over you. You hate to think that others have been held in the same arms that hold you, been kissed by the same lips that kiss you, been touched by the same hands that touch you. You wonder if he's felt the same feelings before for someone else that he feels now for you. You wonder if someone else once made him smile as you do.

He puts his hand on the small of your back. "Reg, don't be like this..." When you make no response, he sighs and moves so now he's sitting across from you and can see your face. Gideon takes both of your hands once more and weaves his fingers in between yours (a perfect fit). "It's not the same, though, you know that?"

You move your stony eyes up to meet his and can see the truth in his eyes, but you remain silent.

"I cared about those girls, but what I had with all of them was nothing like this. It always felt temporary, almost like I wasn't supposed to even be with them. But I never felt that with you." A smile plays on his lips as he adds in a lower tone, "This feels perfect."

The sincerity in those three words cools down the raging jealous that had filled you. You almost feel reassured of the place you have in his life (and heart). You lean forward and kiss him (because it's much easier to do that than to apologize).

He smiles. "You're cute when you're jealous, though," he teases.

"I wasn't jealous."

Gideon just raises an eyebrow skeptically and some laughter leaves both of you.

**xxx**

Your eyes widen as you marvel at the inside of Gryffindor Tower. It's the exact opposite of the cold Slytherin dungeons and you can't help but feel rather envious of the students who get to stay here.

Like you, Gideon is the only one in his dormitory who stayed over break. Unlike you, he doesn't bother sneaking you up to the tower - rather, he could care less who sees you there. He holds your hand as he guides you up the spiral staircase and into the seventh-year dormitory.

The room reminds you of your own dormitory, expect there is red where green should be. He walks towards the bed farthest away and flops down lazily on it, patting the area beside him.

You don't go immediately over to him. Instead, you scan the room looking for a particular person's four-poster bed. You recognize it the second your eyes rake over it by the pillow that once had been loaned to you as a reminder when he first left for Hogwarts six years ago. You approach it slowly, sliding your fingers across the scarlet comforter, picking up the small pillow once in reach.

Gideon remains silent as you seat yourself on your elder brother's bed. You can feel his eyes on you, but no questions are asked.

Your attention is drawn to two picture frames on Sirius' night stand. You put the pillow back in its place as you move towards the stand, picking up the closer frame. Your face twists into a scowl as you see that in it is a photograph of four smiling boys - three whom you despise and one whom you wish you could despise. You set the frame back down and pick up the other one, which lies face down.

Your stomach drops with a sickening mixture of hurt and surprise as you see the two faces staring back at you. Hurt because the photo had been facing down with the crack splintering the glass and surprise because you never expected him to have kept this picture. It had been taken years ago (maybe even lifetimes ago), capturing a moment before all the hate, before all the confusion, before all the disappointment. You can almost feel the ghost of his hand ruffling your hair as it does in the photograph and a sudden longing to travel back to this moment is overwhelming. The photo slips from your hands as you close your grey eyes shut, trying to forget the happiness you had felt back then - but it taunts you, refusing to leave.

As you cover your face with shaking hands, you feel Gideon sit down beside you, tentatively putting his arm around you. You turn and bury your face in his chest and he holds you tightly now. Tears escape your orbs, running down your cheeks and staining his shirt. And you hate yourself for crying like this, for acting all vulnerable like this, but this mixture of emotions is just too much for you to contain.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice low and comforting. When you don't reply, he unwraps an arm from around you and leans down to pick up the object you let go. "Oh," he says, and then puts the photograph in its original spot.

All is silent for some time and even after you've long ceased to cry, he still holds you to him. Once you slowly pull away, he looks at you and wipes the remaining tears which cling to your pale cheeks. "I see him look at that photo often... I never knew what it was of until now, though."

You nod in acknowledgement and then lean back against him. He tightens his arms back around you and slowly rocks back and forth in a soothing way.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Later..."

**xxx**

Silence creeps over you two as you both lay in your bed. After a long snowball fight, it feels nice to be back in the warmth of the castle. Gideon's head is resting on your chest and his blue eyes are shut, but you're unsure whether or not he's asleep. Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, which puts you off because the day after is when all of the other students will be back. There will be no more just sitting in bed with him, or falling asleep with him. No more rather risky playing in the snow or kissing in the corridors. No, you two will be back to being just friends with the shadowy secret of something much more intimate.

You realize he's still awake when he takes your hand in his. This makes you smile a bit because earlier in the day he told you how much he likes just holding your hand. "Can I ask you something?" He says these words in a way that hints to you that he's been pondering this question for a while. Gideon adjusts his head so he can see your face. "Without you getting mad?"

You nod in reply.

He breathes in and out, making your dark locks flutter. "Can now be later?" His eyes study your face, watching for your reaction and whether you'll keep your previously made promise.

Your cold eyes narrow at the question, but a promise is a promise. You sigh and say, "We were close once, but when he went to Hogwarts, he found better friends. He lives with James now." You leave out how your parents have their plans for you and how Sirius hates you for giving in to them. You don't mention how you begged him not to leave that night and how he left anyway, without even blinking an eye. You keep in how you loathe James, Remus, and Peter for getting the love from him that was meant for you - his real brother, his blood.

And by the look on his face, he's not convinced by your short explanation (he knows you a little too well). "Will you ever tell me the whole story?"

"Someday."

**xxx**

"So no more shagging in your dormitory?" he teases, his voice a whisper, as the two of you have breakfast. The rest of the students are on their journey back to the castle and the only other Slytherins at the table are out of earshot.

"No," you answer, your voice rather impatient. You're in no mood for his jests and somehow that makes him only joke more, trying to cheer you up. But nothing he can do or say could brighten your mood today - not now that you both have to go back to hiding whatever this is.

"So no more shagging in my dormitory?"

"But we didn't."

"We should've... Y'know," he adds after a pause, "we might still have time..." He winks at you and nudges your foot underneath the table.

"Gid, just don't," you say, shaking your head with annoyance.

He leans his leg against yours and shoots you a smile that you don't see since you've occupied yourself pushing the food around on your plate. "Fine. So back to those very comfortable, very romantic hours spent in the library?"

"Looks like it," you reply with a sigh.

**xxx**

Just as Gideon had predicted, the arrival of your fellow students at Hogwarts drove the pair of you back into the library corner. The new year greeted you with more schoolwork than you have ever had before, making it so almost every spare minute you can find is spent on said work.

You can feel Gideon's gaze on you as you chip away at the mountain of schoolwork you brought to the library. "You don't have to stay," you tell him, not looking up from your essay. You know he hates spending time in here, but he also hates not spending time with you.

The redhead doesn't move to leave. Instead, he rests his cheek against his hand and moves his eyes lazily back and forth from your face and your work. "Do you actually plan on using all of this," he says as he gestures to the stack of books and parchment on the table, "once you leave Hogwarts?"

Your grip becomes a little bit tighter on your quill as his question hits your ears. You move your eyes up from your essay and meet his. Your brow narrows a hair as you ask, "What do you mean?"

He breaks the connection as he shrugs his shoulders. "I mean, what do you plan on doing after school?"

"I don't really know," you half-lie (because you do know, but they aren't your plans). "I guess I'll worry about it when the time comes."

He nods and smiles, but not before you can catch the slightest frown cross his lips.

**xxx**

"Oi, Black!"

Your stomach twists as you recognize the voice, which belongs to someone with whom you do not really feel like speaking. Sighing, you stop and turn around on the staircase to meet the other Slytherin with a cold gaze. "Avery."

He catches up to you, stopping on the step below you. A sly grin is on his face as he looks up at you and says, "Where's the blood-traitor? You two are usually shoved up each others' arse."

"I could ask you the same thing about Vance," you challenge. You've seen the two of them sneaking around sometimes and then looking as though they've seen a ghost when someone else walks past.

He doesn't answer back so you resume your walk towards your next class. Before you can make it too far, you hear him call out, "The Dark Lord won't like you being around him," but you continue on, pretending not to have heard him (even though his words are ringing in your ears).

**xxx**

"I hate Valentine's Day," you groan. Today is the damned day and the two of you are at the grungy Hog's Head bar. You take a sip of the firewhiskey that Gideon was able to order, despite still being a student. The slight buzz it gives you is the only highlight of this so far dreadful day.

"You hate everything."

"I don't hate you."

Gideon smiles (maybe because it's the closest thing to "I love you" you've ever said to him). He drinks from his mug as he thinks about your words. "You shouldn't hate Valentine's Day."

"And why not?"

"Because it's supposed to be a nice, romantic day. What's to hate about that?" He smiles at you again and slowly slides his hand closer to yours, just enough for your fingertips to barely touch his.

"There's nothing romantic about Hog's Head," you reply icily. You pull your hand back and fold your arms across your chest. It hurts you to see the pained look your words caused, but you're not really in the mood to care. You're aggravated that, while most couples are out openly enjoying their day together, you two are stuck in this bar. You know he's trying, but you can't help but take out your ill mood on him. "We might as well just have gone to the library again."

"Well, we can go to Madame Puddifoot's if that's what you want, then," he spits back at you.

You look up at him as your eyes widen with surprise. You've never heard him use such a tone with you. Your dark eyebrows narrow, but you say nothing in reply. Instead, you take another drink from your cup - the burning of the alcohol almost soothes the sting from his tone.

But he doesn't let the topic sink. "You know, you're the one who doesn't want anyone to know about us. It's your fault that we're spending our day here. It's your fault that today can't be nice or romantic." He speaks in a harsh whisper so that the barman cannot overhear his words. "I don't care who knows. I mean, Fabian already does and I suppose he told my mum and dad. It doesn't matter to me because I am not embarrassed that I fancy you."

A feeling of anger and a little hurt washes over you as his words fill your ears. "It's not that easy for me - you don't know my parents."

"You're right - I don't. But that's only because you're so fucking secretive and refuse to tell me a thing about your family."

You push your chair back with more force than necessary and stand. You stop and open your mouth to say something but decide against it and just exit the bar to go back to the castle. Once out the door, you hear him hurry after you, but you continue to walk.

"Regulus!"

You stop but don't look back at him. He catches up with you and tugs on your hand, turning you to face him. He looks at you apologetically, but you don't return such a look - your face remains cold.

"Come back to Hog's Head." His tone is nothing like it was moments ago - it's back to normal.

You shake your head.

"I want to talk about it, though," he says. His gaze is hopeful and he shoots a small smile at you.

You huff, your breath a smokey film on the cold air. "We can later."

"Later," he repeats, shaking his head with annoyance. "It's always _later_." The hopefulness turns into a sort of irritation as he looks at you once more before turning back towards the village without another word.

**xxx**

The rest of the day and the next were spent without the Gryffindor. You had retreated to your dormitory for the remainder of Valentine's Day and only came down when it was the next day, but that day was also spent without Gideon. Now as you sit in the library alone, you wonder why he hasn't spoken to you yet. You absently brush the feathery end of your quill against your lips as your brow furrows in confusion, thinking about him. You know he was mad, but you had expected him to try and fix things before now.

And that's when it clicks: he's waiting for you to fix things.

You sigh and shove your work and books into your schoolbag. You don't know the exact time but assume that it's late enough for him to be in Gryffindor Tower by now so that's where you go.

Having no idea what to say to him to make things better or even how to get to speak with him in the first place, you stop outside the portrait entrance. You eye the lady and she turns her head to pretend she can't see you. "Will you let me in?" you ask, knowing the answer before she opens her mouth.

"Password?"

"I don't have the password - I just really need to go in there."

When she doesn't answer, you sigh and lean against the stone wall. You hope some Gryffindor will come along who will either let you in or at least fetch Gideon for you.

What seems like hours pass before you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Your eyes look up (and you hope it's not your brother) as you await the incoming person's arrival. You smile as you see a familiar face look at you, but that smile disappears the second you realize that it's only familiar in a mirroring way. "Fabian," you say, knowing his twin too well to confuse the two of them.

"What do you want?" he asks as he sees you, his voice cold in a way that Gideon's never could be.

You debate with yourself if you should ask him for help or not. Without Gideon here, there are a few things you would like to say to his brother, but you know that that won't help your situation any. "I need to talk to your brother."

He pauses in front of you, the dislike apparent on his face. His blue eyes meet your steel ones and he holds your gaze for some time. "I don't like you being around him."

"I know."

"So why would you think I would help you talk to him?" He steps away from you and towards the portrait door but doesn't say the password. He is still looking at you, seeming to be waiting for an answer or for you to leave.

You don't reply. Instead, you just look at him once more and then begin to walk away, doubting you'll get anywhere by arguing with him.

Before you are far enough to be out of earshot, you hear Fabian say, "Write him a letter - he'd like that."

You turn back around towards him, but he's already gone inside the door.

**xxx**

You feel your stomach sink as you walk into the empty classroom at the time you had asked him to meet you. Despite Fabian's apparent advice, you had found it impossible to put what you wanted to say into words on parchment so instead you just wrote down the classroom and a time. Your grey orbs rake over the old room - it hasn't been used in a while by the looks of the amount of dust. You take a few steps towards the bookcase at the back of the room when you hear the doorknob turn.

He looks at you but doesn't say anything as he sits on one of the dust-coated tables. You stay where you are, at the other side of the room, realizing that you never thought out what to say to him.

"I heard you ran into my brother last night," he says, breaking the thick silence and tension with his words and his smile. "By the time he got around to telling me, you had already left."

You nod your head and make your way over, taking a seat beside him. Silence makes its return as Gideon waits for you to say something. A million words and phrases pass through your mind, but none of them seem quite right to fit how you feel. "I missed you" is what comes from your lips, your eyes watching his face.

"That's all you have to say?" His words sting, but not because they're harsh; it's more because he's right. You know he's right.

"What do you want me to say?" you ask. You know that "_Sorry for being such an arse all the time_" would probably be fitting, but "I hate that you're mad at me because I don't know how to fix it and only seem to fuck it up more when I try" is what you end up saying.

He looks away and sighs with irritation. "I'm not mad at you," he says. "I just don't understand why you always keep things from me. I'm not even asking you to tell me everything, but some things would be nice."

You don't reply right off. You pull your knees up and chest your chin upon them, thinking about what he said and what to say. He's right (he's always right), but that doesn't make anything easier - that doesn't give you the courage to spill everything out to him. "My family's fucked up," you say in a voice hardly higher than a whisper. "They would murder me if they knew I was with you - or even hanging around you... Well, at least disown me as they did Sirius."

He covers your hand with his own and gives it a gentle squeeze. "That's a start," he says with a reassuring smile.

**xxx**

You groan as you pull the emerald curtains shut around your four-poster bed. With schoolwork and Quidditch practice today and the last few days, you are exhausted both physically and mentally. Not to mention you've been quite pissy because you've been unable to see Gideon except for spare moments in the halls and mealtimes. As the year comes to a close, you hate every moment not spent near him and envy every moment he spends with someone else.

Clothes discarded, you crawl under your comforter with a contented sigh as your head rests on your pillow. Your grey eyes flutter shut and sleep weighs heavy on your eyelids as a feeling of relaxation runs through your veins.

The sound of your dormitory door opening and closing causes you to stir and you see your bed curtains sway. You draw yourself up to try and catch a glimpse of whoever entered since your fellow sixth years were in bed before you arrived.

As you move your head around the curtain, you feel a hand clasp over your mouth. Your eyes widen and you're unable to exclaim as fear runs through you, but all of that subsides when a familiar voice whispers "shh" in your ear. The weight of someone else sinks in your bed and you can barely hear the person whisper a silencing charm and a charm you don't recognize over the pounding of your heart. With a blink of an eye, the other person is revealed to you and you shake your head. "What the fuck, Gideon?"

He grins and laughs. "I wanted to ask you something and Fabian just happens to be brilliant at that Disillusionment Charm. Well, I can cast it, too, but his is much stronger." The redhead crawls towards you and kisses you lightly. "And I missed you..." In the dark, you can see a faint pout form on his lips.

"You could've warned me," you say, but you aren't upset. You stifle a yawn as the adrenaline shock finally fades away. He pulls you close to him, his arm wrapping around your bare waist and your head resting on his chest. Your ill mood instantly leaves you, but you wish you weren't so tired.

"I can go if you want to sleep... What I was going to ask can wait until morning - I just wanted to see you, really." He looks down at you and runs his free hand through your dark locks.

"No," you tell him, shaking your head. "I want you to stay."

Gideon smiles and you can tell that he hadn't really wanted to leave. "So I was thinking about how summer's coming soon..."

He lets his sentence trail off and you feel your stomach clench. It would be rather odd for him to come down here to break it off with you, but you're unable to quite shake the idea. "And...?" you prompt.

"And...well, don't feel like you have to or get mad, but I have money saved up for a flat of my own... If you want, you could stay there a night, or a week, or a month, or something..." He brings his gaze back down on you and you feel him hold his breath as he awaits your reaction.

You don't answer right off and instead ponder the unexpected offer. You had previously been wondering about what summer would bring for the two of you and it scared you (in more ways than one). "My parents-"

"It's fine," he says, cutting off your sentence, disappointment clear in his voice. "It was just an idea."

"My parents," you repeat, "probably wouldn't care if it was anytime except in later August. We have some plans..." The last part comes out rather unhappily, but he doesn't seem to notice. A wide smile spreads across his face as he hears your words and holds you closer to him.

"The summer will be great," he promises, starting to stroke your hair again, the smile still tugging on the corners of his face.

You wish you could agree with him.

**xxx**

You sit in the cool dormitory for one of the last times until your return to Hogwarts. The emerald green comforter is drawn closely to you and the matching curtains are drawn shut. You know you shouldn't be here - that you should be watching the graduation ceremony as everyone else is.

But how could you?

How were you supposed to face him, not knowing whether it's the last time you'll see him? How were you supposed to be happy for him, knowing that he'll be off doing bigger and better things that you'll never be able to achieve? How were you supposed to know what to say to him when you're sure he despises you and only will more soon enough?

You couldn't bare to see Sirius leave you again, so you stayed here.

You're almost positive that your brother doesn't care if you're at the ceremony or not (he probably won't even notice), but there is one person whom you've angered for your lack of appearance. Gideon had been counting on you to be there and meet his family, but once again you let him down.

He hadn't yelled at you or begged you to go when you told him ("_Fine_" and some mumbled words like "_I'm not surprised_"), but you couldn't and wouldn't change your mind. And maybe that's selfish, but you couldn't let yourself be left all over again (experiencing that pain once was enough).

You pull the thick blanket closer to you as you wish Gideon was here and not out there. That way you could be comforted by his assuaging words (because he always knows what to say) and not left alone with your unhappy thoughts.

**xxx**

You open the door to a train compartment occupied by a single person (to whom you haven't spoken for two days). You stand awkwardly between the walkway and the inside of the compartment as he looks over at you. "Do you mind?"

He shakes his head, but you can tell that he's still unhappy with you for missing his graduation (and you don't blame him for that). You enter and hoist your luggage and owl onto the overhead rack, taking a seat directly opposite Gideon afterwards.

Silence hangs between the pair of you for over half of the voyage. You can't stand it any longer and say, "How was the ceremony?"

He takes his gaze away from the window and looks at you, something like hurt and irritation filling his eyes. "Good - it was good," he answers stonily. After a few minutes pass, he adds, "My mum had wished you were there, though. She wanted to meet you..."

"Does she know about us?" you question, trying to keep the conversation from dwindling away.

A smile escapes his lips and he says, "I think 'Mum, Dad, it's too bad my boyfriend isn't here because I wanted you to meet him' gave it away. By the looks on their faces, Fabian hadn't told them already. Mum doesn't care and neither does Molly, but I can tell Dad's a bit bothered by it."

You smile and shake your head; a warm (and rather envious) feeling runs through you with the thought that Gideon was able to tell his parents. "Boyfriend," you repeat lowly when you realize that neither of you had ever given a title to whatever this is before.

"I think that we're past the point of friendship and you mean more to me than a fuck buddy, so boyfriend seemed rather fitting. If you don't mind, that is."

Butterflies tickle your stomach but quickly disappear as another thought dawns on you. "Does this mean we're...gay?" You had thought about the question before but never quite knew what the answer was. You can't picture yourself feeling this way about a girl, but you can't picture yourself feeling this way about another guy, either.

Gideon's brow draws together as he ponders the question. "I don't know, to be honest... It doesn't matter, though - not really. As long as we're happy." When you don't respond, he nudges your foot. "Are you happy, Regulus?"

"With you, yes." But not with your life, not with your family, not with yourself.

He smiles and nods (and you catch a look of relief crossing his face).

Silence slowly falls back over the two of you as you both get caught up in thoughts. Before you know it, the train reaches a stop and it hits you that you aren't ready to say goodbye to Gideon (or return to an empty house). After he gets your owl, Conant, and both of your trunks down, you stand up in front of him and frown. "When will you be moved into your flat?

"Within a week or so...," he answers, taking your hands in his. "I know you hate writing letters, but promise to write me - even if it's just a few short lines..."

"I will."

"Then I guess this is goodbye," he says, his voice low and sad.

You free your hand from his to pull the shutter down as students fill the platform. You then bring him towards you, saying a very nonverbal goodbye. After you reluctantly split apart, you look at him once more and then turn to get your trunk and bird.

You dread the slow passing of the upcoming week.

**xxx**

You grip your quill tightly and move your arm over the piece of parchment, smudging the fresh ink as you hear heavy footsteps approaching your door. You look at the entrance to your room as you await the person.

When your door swings open, a strong smell of alcohol fills the air and you wrinkle your nose as your eyes meet those of your father's. His hardened gaze scrutinizes you and then the parchment underneath your arm. He takes a step forward, his balance barely affected as his tolerance has strengthened over the years of finding some sort of comfort in bottles. "Who are you writing to?" he demands, and you can notice a slight slur in his words. "It better not be the _bastard_."

You frown at his use of the newly adopted nickname for your brother (they swear never to speak his actual name again) and you wonder what would happen if you told the truth. Would they disown you for merely being friends with someone considered a blood-traitor? You doubt it (after all, you're their last hope), but punishment would more than likely come in the form of a leather belt and that's not something you wish to experience again. "No one," you lie, trying to keep your gaze from faltering.

Your father continues to watch you for a few moments. "You're lying," he concludes, and your stomach sinks as low as it possibly can as he picks up your letter. Fear swims in your veins as he slowly reads each and every line meant only to be read by a very different person. "Gideon is a strange name for a witch," he comments, setting the parchment back upon your writing table.

"It is," you agree, your shaky tone going unnoticed by the other wizard. You wonder whether your father believes the letter is for a witch or if he just refuses to consider the other possibility.

"Don't get too attached - you're to have an arrange marriage, as you know."

You nod your head. He pauses, looking at you once more, before turning away and leaving you to your room.

**xxx**

You blink back a tear that tries to escape as her hand print reddens on your face. You refuse to weep. You refuse to show how you truly feel to her because it will only feed her wrath. You stand still, your lip barely quivering, and keep your chin up to look her in the eye.

She's not the mother you once knew. She's changed - everyone's changed - since Sirius fled this house of darkness. And she hates you for him leaving. She hates that you remind her of him - the same ebony locks, the same high cheeks, the same steel eyes. She hates you.

And it kills you inside. Each strike, each vicious word, each look of loathing is slowly tearing you apart because all you ever wanted was her to be proud.

You know there is only one way to do that.

**xxx**

"Your dear cousin has everything set for the twenty-sixth of August."

You nod your head, masking the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"Both your father and I will be so proud."

A slight smile escapes you.

**xxx**

The dark cloud that has hovered over you since you arrived at your house was lightened this morning in the form of a letter. Gideon is all settled into his flat. He told you that you're welcome to come over any time and the thought of an escape from this prison is overwhelming to you.

This news excites you and causes a sort of fear all at the same time as you've yet to mention to your parents about spending time with Gideon. With a sigh, you put his letter away in your trunk with the rest of them and trudge downstairs.

You hesitantly knock once on the door to your father's study, guessing you'll have better luck with asking him than asking your mother. The door swings open without an answer and you enter the room into which you've rarely been allowed. You eye the deep mahogany floor as you say, "Father-"

"Make it quick," he snaps, looking up from parchments spread across his desk. "You know better than to disturb me when I'm working."

You keep your eyes on the wooden floor. "I wanted to know if I could spend a few weeks with a friend? I'll be back before the twenty-sixth, of course."

You can feel his stern gaze on you and you hold your breath as you await his response. After a moment's deliberation, he answers, "I suppose so."

**xxx**

Despite your dislike for Apparation and the ill feeling it gives to you, a wide smile plays on your lips as you land outside Gideon's apartment. It's a small brick building located on the other side of London from your own house. You take a step towards the door, but he takes hold of your hand, stopping you.

"There's something I should tell you before we go in." The redhead looks rather nervous as he says this and you eye him suspiciously. "Well...you know how my parents wanted to meet you, right?"

A frown moves onto your face in place of the smile as you hear his words. "You could've told me ahead of time," you say, your tone sharp.

He tries to pull you towards him, but you stay firmly in your place. "It's just that I didn't think you'd come if I told you. You didn't seem to keen to meet them at Hogwarts." He pauses, but when you say nothing, he adds, "I'm sorry."

You just shrug your shoulders and take a deep breath, not wanting to seem like a complete bastard when you meet his parents. "I guess I have to now."

He smiles at you, but quickly grimaces. "Wait - Fabian's here, too..."

You slowly nod your head. "Fantastic."

When you step through the door and into what looks like the living room, no one is in sight. Gideon, behind you, takes your hand in his and says, "They're in the kitchen. Mum's made lunch for everyone, so hopefully you're hungry - she doesn't take 'no' for answer when it comes to food." He gives you a sympathetic look as he leads you into the room where his family is.

They're all sitting at the table already, two empty chairs across from each other are waiting to be filled so the meal can begin.

"You must be Regulus!" happily exclaims a witch, his mother you assume, when she sees you. "Come, take a seat - I hope you like pork pie because that's what I made. I asked Gideon to ask you, but you know how he is."

His father's reaction is much less exuberant but still welcoming. He smiles and nods at you, which both of you return. The only person at the table who doesn't seem happy in the least is, of course, Fabian. He gives you a stony look and says nothing.

You take a seat beside Gideon's mother, who immediately starts to pile your plate with foods which you've never before seen. You soon find out that they are much more delicious than anything served at your house. As time moves along, you slowly feel more at ease with his parents, who are more welcoming than you could've imagined. Momentarily at some point in the conversation, you almost forget that you're not truly a part of this family (and sickness fills you as you're brought back to reality).

"Fabian, you aren't very talkative today. Is there something on your mind?" their father comments as the meal begins to draw to a close.

The older twin looks up and smirks, his eyes meeting yours. "I was just thinking about how funny it is that _both_ Regulus and his brother have an interest in wizards. Their poor parents will never have grandchildren, it seems..."

"Fabian!" scolds their mother. "Don't start."

Your brow narrows as you register his words and you shake your head. "Sirius doesn't..."

He laughs at you. "Unless Remus happens to be a witch, then I think he does."

"Enough," warns their father, giving his son a stern look.

Silence fills the air until everyone finishes his or her food. Your mind is occupied the rest of the time spent with whether or not what Fabian said is true or if he was just trying to get a rise from you.

**xxx**

"Sorry about that," Gideon says with a sigh as he sits down on the couch beside you. His family has just left after lunch had come to a close. The visit went well, all except for Fabian's comment which managed to bother you more than you wished. Gideon leans back, resting his head on your lap and smiling up at you. "Just be happy Mum didn't start about your hair. She's dead determined to cut any wizard's hair if it's past his ears." He lightly tugs on a strand of your dark locks that's now creeping past your shoulder.

You smile and rest your hand on the top of his head. "I could use a haircut. Sirius used to do it for me at home, but..." You let your sentence trail off, you both knowing how it was going to end. You sigh and say, "You're lucky to have them as parents..."

He takes your other hand in his and squeezes it comfortingly. "I know. They would be there for you if you need them, though, you know? I don't mind sharing them."

This makes you grin a bit and you wish that you could say that you have your parents to be there for you, but you can't because that'd be a lie. "Thanks," you say, appreciating his words, even if it's not the same. You bite your bottom lip as you think of a way to word the question you've been waiting to ask. "Do you think it's true...what Fabian said?" You try and fail to keep how much the comment had bothered you from showing in your tone.

Gideon doesn't reply right off. The look on his face tells you that he was hoping this wouldn't come up, but it's something you need to know. "Well, yes and no... I mean, they've always been rather cozy, but that doesn't mean anything..."

Pushing your dislike for Lupin aside, you aren't really bothered by the idea of your brother being with another wizard (it would be quite hypocritical if you were, after all). It makes you wonder, though, if this _attraction_ is something that runs in your blood...if maybe that's why your father hadn't further questioned the letter he had found...

**xxx**

You slowly open your eyes, brushing the sleep away from them with your fists. You glance over at the sleeping wizard beside you and smile. The sun seeping through the curtain falls on his face, giving him an almost angelic look. You slowly prop yourself up on an elbow to get a better view of him, being careful not to wake him.

You silently study each and every detail on his face and you began to realize what a beautiful human he really is - not just for his now invisible smile or for his personality, but for everything as a whole. Like how his lengthy lashes kiss his face when he closes his eyes, how his lips are the perfect shade of pink, and how each freckle seems to be artistically placed. It makes you question why he would ever want someone like you (a question that you've asked yourself a million times before). He's a masterpiece while you're merely some mix of everything that's opposite of him: black where there's red, pale where there's dotted, damned where there's nothing but hope.

You sigh and lie back down, bringing him closer to you as you try to push your differences and insecurities from mind.

**xxx**

You're not even sure how you were talked into this. You had insisted that you didn't know anything about children and hated the ocean with a passion, but you ended up here somehow anyway.

The salt-tinged breeze ruffles your hair as you sit on a beach towel as far away from the water as you can possibly manage. The waves race up the coast, licking the sand before retreating to the sea and you'll admit that the sound is rather soothing, but that's the extent of your appreciation for the place. The beach is rather crowded as it's an unusually warm English afternoon, yet you can still pick out the flaming red heads of Gideon and Charlie splashing about in the water. You smile to yourself as you watch them.

"Why's your hair so long? Doesn't your mum bug you to cut it?" questions Bill, who is beside you. He looks at you in a curious manner, which makes you notice the resemblance he bears to Gideon.

"She doesn't care," you tell him simply.

He looks at you for a little longer before hesitantly reaching out and combing his fingers through your lengthy locks. "I wish my mum didn't care - I'd like to have long hair like yours."

"Maybe you can when you're older."

"She'll probably make me cut it then, too," he says with a sigh. "Do you have any brothers or sisters? I have four."

"A brother."

"Where is he?"

You shrug your shoulders at his question. "I don't know."

"That's no good - you should always stick close to your siblings. I always know where mine are," he tells you, pride filling the last few words. "Do you go to Hogwarts?"

"Mhm."

"How'd you meet Uncle Gideon?"

You laugh and, with a smile, answer, "He made me be his friend - followed me around the castle and everything until I finally agreed. Very persistent, he was."

Bill laughs and then continues on with his questioning. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Do you play Quidditch?"

"I'm Seeker on the Slytherin team."

His wide eyes blink and a confused look crosses his face. "You're a _Slytherin_?"

You nod your head.

"Oh...," he says, pondering this new information. "But you're _nice_!"

A smile tugs at your lips. "Not all Slytherins are bad, you know?"

He doesn't seem quite convinced, but he nods his head in agreement anyway. "Do you have any pets?"

"An owl."

"What's his name?"

"Conant."

"Why don't you go swimming?"

Your jaw tightens and you look towards the vast ocean, a slight shudder running through you. "You ask a lot of questions." From the corner of your eye, you can see his face fall and he doesn't say anything. You sigh, wondering if you unintentionally hurt his feelings. "Don't laugh, okay?"

"I won't."

You've never quite figured out why you've always been so embarrassed by this - maybe because Sirius always used to make it a big deal whenever you were near water ("_Watch it - don't fall in!_" or "_Careful, ickle Reggie, we don't want you to drown!_"). And though you know he was only joking, it has always bothered you. "I can't swim," you confess, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves hitting land and the voices of people around you.

A small smile appears on Bill's lips, but he stays true to his promise. "It's not that hard - Uncle Gid could teach you."

Shaking your head, you say, "No... I'm afraid of the water, actually."

He laughs at you this time but quickly apologizes. "Werewolves scare me," he tells you.

You nod in acknowledgement and watch as Gideon and Charlie make their way up to where the two of you are sitting.

Gideon smiles at you before retrieving two towels from the beach tote and handing one to Charlie. "Are you sure you don't want to swim before we go? It's pretty warm - for the ocean, that is."

You quickly shake your head, but before the conversation can be dropped, Bill pips up with, "Regulus can't swim, you know? He says he's scared of water!"

You groan and internally kick yourself for telling the seven-year-old. You're rather surprised when you don't hear any of them chuckle at your fear and so you chance a look at Gideon, giving him a sheepish smile.

"But it's so much fun!" exclaims Charlie in disbelief.

"He's a good Quidditch player, so I _suppose_ we can forgive him," Gideon jokes as he ruffles Charlie's hair and returns your smile with a more reassuring one.

You have a moment to relish in the pleasant feeling that settles in your stomach at the sight of Gideon's smile as Charlie brings up the subject of ice cream, and Bill latches on to the idea so that Gideon's hand is forced and the lot of you pack up. With the promise of ice cream, the four of you make your way through the crowded sidewalks of this harbor town and, as you go along, the people passing by all seem to be Muggles, making you wonder to yourself about them - what they do their lives, how they manage without magic. The idea of it seems very strange and intriguing all at the same time.

A loud "I'm tired, Uncle Gid" comes from Charlie, all mixed up with a yawn.

You pause and wait for Gideon to pick up his younger nephew and then resume walking. You feel a small twang of jealousy run through you when you see Charlie relax comfortably and securely in Gideon's embrace, his head resting against the crook of his neck. You shake your head because you know it's silly to feel that way and the jealousy is replaced by a smile as you realize how good of a father Gideon would make.

You're rather surprised to feel Bill take your hand in his, but it's nice and you squeeze his hand gently. And for a moment there, as you all walk along the uneven sidewalk through this small town, you would almost give anything at all to be able to call this little family (of the four of you) your own.

**xxx**

You lie across the small couch, your legs too long and dangling over the armrest. It was definitely a busy day, but it was also enjoyable and you find yourself wondering when the next time the two of you will be needed to babysit. You're also thankful to be back at Gideon's house, though, as you're not sure how much more activity you could handle. You don't know how Molly does it every day.

Gideon comes in from the kitchen and leans against the doorway of the two rooms. He looks at you thoughtfully, a barely visible smile playing on his lips. "I want a family," he says, almost to himself.

"Are you breaking up with me?" you tease, your eyebrows raised in mock-horror.

He shakes his head and laughs, but a sober expression replaces his jovial features quickly. "But I'm serious - about a family. Not now, but someday I'd like to have a kid or two...for us." He watches you intently as he says this, trying to detect your feelings about the subject. "By adoption and such," he adds, trying to make things clear.

A rather pained look appears on your face as you hear his words. "I - I don't think that'd be a good idea, really..."

"Why?"

You'll admit that the idea of it is appealing to you, but only the idea. You know you could never be a father - that you would never want to be a father. "I'd just fuck them up like the rest of the parents in my family have..." You can see his face fall a little, but you know you'll never change your mind. You wouldn't want the chance to destroy a child's life as your parents did to yours.

"You aren't your parents, Regulus. I hope you realize that someday." He holds your gaze solemnly before retreating into the other room.

**xxx**

You close the door behind you as you reenter the house, a wrapped present held securely in hand. Today is Gideon's birthday and, after much deliberation, you hope that you've gotten him something that he'll like since he refused to tell you what he wanted.

You shut your eyes in surprise as you're greeted with the bright flash of a camera and the bright smile of Gideon's behind it. Wrapping one arm around the gift and holding it against your side, you rub the stars from your eyes with your free hand.

"Arthur and Molly sent it to me as they won't be able to come to the get-together," he tells you. "It's an actual Muggle camera." He shakes the developing photo in his hand and then shows it to you. You're frozen in place, eyes half shut, an unsuspecting look on your face. "Adorable," he says, kissing you lightly.

You shake your head at the unflattering picture and move past him to gently set his present on the coffee table. "I got you something that you should open now," you say, gesturing at the package. "It's fragile, so be careful."

Gideon raises his eyebrows curiously and sits down beside you on the sofa. As he unwraps the front of the gift, you can see his eyes widen with surprise and it makes you wonder if you should've discussed getting him this beforehand. "You-said-you-wanted-a-family-and-well-I-should've-asked-you-first-but-I-can-take-it-back-if-you-want" comes out in a jumbled mess as you began to regret getting him this.

He looks at you in shock and says, "You wrapped a kitten?"

"Not for long - and it was in a kennel... I thought it'd be okay for a minute or two..."

Gideon laughs and kisses the sheepish look off your face before turning towards the kennel and unlocking the door. He reaches inside and cautiously brings out a small, cinnamon-striped kitten. It meows loudly and begins to purr once on his lap triggering a smile to appear on his lips.

"Do you like it?" you question, unsure about the whole thing still.

"It's great," he says, the smile still wide on his face. He pets the small animal and it begins to purr once more, the rattling sound seeming almost too loud to be coming from such a tiny creature.

You hesitantly reach out and rub its head, a smile now creeping onto your lips as well. "What are you going to name it - her, actually?"

He picks the cat up and holds her before him, a thoughtful look passing over his face. "Dumbledore."

"Gid, I can't call her that."

He laughs. "How about...Basil?"

You repeat the suggested name before nodding your head. "I like it."

"Then Basil it is." He looks over at you, a smirk on his lips now. "But don't fuck up our kitten-child, Reg, 'cause I've seen how you lot of Blacks have turned out."

"I'll try not to, but no promises."

Though Gideon doesn't further comment, you feel that he doesn't need to say anything. He continues to look at you, and you understand what his eyes are saying. With all this talk of your family and the brief mention of Dumbledore (and the git, who honestly would name a kitten that?), both of you can't help but draw some comparison of you with your parents and relatives. And, even if just a little, you are beginning to feel what he's been telling you all along: You _aren't_ them.

Regulus Arcturus Black may blunder.

But Reg has the strength not to.

**xxx**

That damned camera will be the death of you.

Ever since he was gifted the thing, Gideon has constantly used it. His favorite subject is you - with Basil following closely behind - and he always seems to snap the photos when you least expect it or wish he wouldn't (when you're sleeping, eating, mad, attempting to cook, and so on and so forth). You're certain that your eyes will be permanently affected by the flash.

But you don't say anything to him about it (except for the time you were sleeping) because he seems to really enjoy it. That smile of his always appears from behind the contraption after the oh so familiar click sounds and seeing it is worth dealing with the camera.

You walk out of the kitchen one day and find him stacking the Polaroids in piles on the coffee table. Previously, they had littered the house, on bed stands, on counters, landing wherever the camera shot them. You watch him smile as he sifts through them, carefully placing them on top of each other and, every once in a while, placing one on a separate smaller pile.

You leave your spot in the doorway and join him on the couch. "Merlin, have a few pictures?"

Gideon laughs and takes the smallest stack from the table in his hand and gives it to you. "These are my favorites," he tells you.

He slides closer to you, his side pressed against yours, so he can look on with you. The top photo happens to be the first one he took of you. Time hasn't made you become any fonder of the unexpected picture and you grimace at the sight of it. The next one is of you sleeping with Basil curled in a ball on your chest and the one after that is of you drinking coffee (the edges stained with the liquid after the flash jolted you, causing you to spill your drink). The second to the last one is of you laughing with Bill and Charlie and it makes you grin just looking at it. The final photo is of you and Gideon, lips merely inches apart and his hand on your cheek. Gideon had charmed the camera to take the picture without him, but it went off before your lips met.

You can see him from the corner of your eye looking at you without saying a word, but you know, you can tell what he wants you to say. Each and every feature on his face is shouting out the words to you and all you have to do is repeat them. It's a simple enough question (_"Why do you take all of these photos, Gid?"_), but you don't want to know the answer.

Maybe you already know it.

(_"To remember you by when you leave, Reg."_)

But the thought of hearing those words, bringing up the subject of leaving is too much for you. Instead "They're - they're nice" leaves your lips shakily and you drop the photographs on his lap before exiting the room.

**xxx**

Times like this you wish you could capture with Gid's camera - not in the usual camera way, though. In a way that would allow you to live in the moment forever and ever and never have to go on or think back. It would be the epitome of perfection if such a thing existed, but it doesn't so you'll have to savor this moment while it lasts.

The two of you are at some dingy, smoke-filled café in the heart of London. The kind of place that is usually overlooked by most people. The chairs at the table were already side by side so you didn't protest to sitting so closely to Gideon. It's not as though you care what any of these Muggles think anyway.

"Bulgaria has got it in the bag," you protest as you wait for your drinks to arrive.

Gideon shakes his head. He might not be able to play to save his life, but he definitely follows the games closely. "Did you not read how hard the French have been training? They'll win the Cup, no doubt."

You laugh at him and continue to argue in an unheated way. It's a rare occasion to have Gideon disagree with you and so you don't let the subject drop until the waitress returns. She places some type of whiskey down for Gideon and then carefully hands you your coffee, her fingers brushing yours in the process. "Thanks," you say.

With a bat of her lengthy eyelashes and a twist of her smile, she looks at you and replies, "If you need anything else, just let me know." Her eyes linger on you momentarily, but enough to be noticed, before she turns and leaves.

You sip your coffee and then recognize the scarcely seen scowl on Gideon's face. "What's wrong? Did she bring a different drink?"

His red brow narrows as he shakes his head. He looks down at the mug before him and says rather quietly, "She was _flirting_ with you..."

"What? No, she wasn't."

"Look at her - she's gawking at you as Filch does at Madam Pince!"

You glance up and sure enough her eyes are on you. She smiles as she sees you look at her, but you turn back to Gideon without returning it. "Okay, well, why does it matter?" The girl is rather attractive, you suppose, but you hadn't thought twice about her. You came here to spend time with the wizard beside you, not some Muggle. But then it clicks in your head. "You're jealous!" you say, louder than intended.

He looks at you and shakes his head. "Am not," he denies, but the expression on his face is all you need to confirm your suspicion.

Laughing, you get an idea. You reach slowly toward him, your fingers lingering on his jawbone before trailing their way behind his neck and pulling him closer to you until your lips meet. You can feel him smile against you before kissing you back. It's short and simple, but enough to appease his jealousy and put a stopper on the waitress' interest. And it feels nice, to be intimate in public like any other couple, not to care what any onlookers think. You wish it could be like that always.

"You're cute when you're jealous," you say once you split apart, remembering his words from Christmas break.

He smiles sheepishly. "I wasn't jealous."

**xxx**

It begins as any other day. Both of you are in the kitchen; he's making breakfast while you're feeding Basil on the counter. It's something he has asked you not to do a million times before and you're not completely sure why you don't listen. Basil would be plenty able to eat on the floor like most other felines, but every morning you lift her onto the counter and give her food there. He doesn't say anything this time.

And that's when he says it, barely higher than a slight breeze in your ear, but his words have a sort of strength behind him that startles you more than the words themselves do. "I love you, you know?"

You stop in mid-pat, your hand frozen in the air above the kitten's head. He's behind you, but you know his eyes are on you, you can feel them. You force your caught breath out and slowly turn around. It had been an unspoken agreement between the pair of you not to throw those words around and neither of you have uttered them before now. "You do?"

"Yeah."

Your brow draws in closer as your eyes lock. His have this sort of glimmer to them, like polished sapphire instead of just sapphire and the intensity of his gaze tells you he's not joking. You swallow. "How do you know?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know..."

"Well, you shouldn't say _that_ if you don't know..."

"Why not? I said I don't know why I love you, not that I don't mean it - I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. And I wasn't looking for you to say it back...," he says, his voice slightly hurt and an incredulous look upon his face. He shakes his head at you before turning back to breakfast without another word.

The rest of the day passes awkwardly and tension filled. Neither of you have really spoken after the morning and the sparse words have been stiff and forced. You really wanted to thank him and return those words, but the whole thought of it scares you half to death. It scares you because you know it's the truth, but you haven't the words to express it.

The second the clock strikes nine you retire to the bedroom. Gideon stays in the living room, reading some book that you're surprised he even owns. You hope things will be better in the morning or at least the courage will appear in you to make things better. You pull back the comforter on your side of the bed and see that picture of you and him on your pillow. Confused, you pick it up and notice an inked arrow on the bottom margin. Flipping it over, you read in Gideon's handwriting:

_You wanted reasons, so here they are:_

_-you kissed me in front of all those Muggles_  
_-you're cute when __you're__ jealous_  
_-you got Basil for me - us_  
_-you prefer coffee to tea_  
_-you're great with Bill and Charlie_  
_-you don't care that I hog the blankets_  
_-you let me take photos of you, though you hate it (I can tell)_  
_-you have a nice arse - I mean - personality_  
_-I just do_

Polaroid in hand and smile playing on your lips, you return to the living room, teetering in the doorway. When he looks up silently at you, you raise the picture and say, "This...this was nice." You groan because that's not even close to what you wish to say. "I mean, I appreciate it... Oh fuck it, I love you, too, Gid."

And in that moment, you've never meant anything as strongly as you mean those three words.

**xxx**

You sit across from him at the table. Your coffee and his tea are steaming in front of their rightful owners. Basil's sprawled out beside you, her cinnamon coat gleaming in the morning sun and her green eyes shut. Gideon doesn't like her on the table, either, something about dirty paws and eating space, but shooing her off has proved to be useless.

Your brow furrows as this thought that's been pestering you returns. You sigh much louder than expected and snatch Gideon's attention away from the _Daily Prophet_.

"What's wrong?" He reaches across the table to take your free hand in his, your other being used to prop up your head.

You hesitate in telling him because you don't want him to question your words from the other night. You have a feeling, though, that the nagging thought won't leave until you talk about it. "Do you think love actually lasts?"

He doesn't answer right off, a look of concentration spreading over his face as he idly plays with your fingers. You watch him, wondering about and wishing to know every thought that is passing through his mind right now. Finally he nods his head and answers, "If you love someone for the right reasons, then yes, I think so."

A slight smile plays on your lips as you hear his answer. You needed that type of assurance. "I hope so."

**xxx**

"Tomorrow is-"

"The day I have to leave."

"Well, I was going to say your birthday."

A small frown appears on your pale lips as the subjects of your departure and birthday are unearthed. Neither are things about which you wish to speak; the mere mention of them triggers this sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. So you just shrug your shoulders, hoping he'll drop the conversation.

"Let's go to the States...or Canada...somewhere far away."

Slightly amused by this out of the blue suggestion, the frown disappears from your face. "And why should we go there?" you question, playing along as if leaving the country was even an option available to you.

"You wouldn't have to go back to your house that way," he says, his usual playfulness no longer a part of his voice. He looks at you solemnly, but neither of you say anything to further the subject.

The rest of the day passes by quickly, filled with petty bickering and the clicks of his camera. Gideon wanted to take you out somewhere for your birthday, but after much insisting that you just wanted to stay at his house, he agreed not to go out. The attempt to bake a cake turned into a right disaster, the batter having found its way all over the house and through your hair, and in the end Gideon pulled out some ice cream from the freezer.

But now as the sun sets, it's like a scene from one of those renowned paintings - the ones with moments captured after the excitement. The smiles gone, the loneliness thick in the air, the sun filtering across the subjects' faces. The laughter, the clicks of Gideon's camera, the swears spilling from your mouth, the cake that you both attempted to make are all long forgotten. It's almost as though they took place in a very different century with very different people. The thought present in both of your minds is very similar - the thought of leaving.

The days of summer have flown past you in a whirlwind of joy, ecstasy, passion, and just plain and simple happiness - something you thought you'd never feel again a year before. You're very thankful for it all but also a bit bitter at the same time because you'll have to leave it.

From your spot on the couch, you look at Gideon, who's seated across the room in an armchair seldom used. Even with him mere footsteps away, you can't recall the last time you've felt so alone and, by the expression he's wearing, he feels the same.

You turn away from him, it's almost unbearably painful just to look at him with the thought of the next day occupying your mind. It's painful to know that, by this time tomorrow, you'll be changed for the worse and he'll still be Gideon.

**xxx**

You slip out from under his arm and sit on the edge of the bed, the morning arriving through the curtained window. You hadn't slept more than a wink the whole night and you have a feeling Gideon didn't either. The thought of tomorrow (now today) had been too much to push from your mind and kept you up with a feeling of dread.

He stirs behind you, sitting up against the headboard but staying on the other side of the bed. You can feel his cerulean orbs on the back of your head, just watching you. "Regulus...I...," he starts but trails off, leaving his thought hanging in the air and your suspicion confirmed.

"How - how long have you known?" You inhale slowly through trembling lips. "About it? About...me?"

You can feel him shift uncomfortably on the bed. "Since the first day I talked to you... I'd overheard your brother's conversation with Remus."

Shock and anger hit you like a brick and you spin around quickly to face him. You had expected him to say since a day or two, maybe since you arrived at his house, but not since you had met. Your dark brow draws in with confusion and a whirlwind of other passing emotions. "Then why?" you try to yell, but your voice chokes. "Why did you ever talk to me? Why did you start this, knowing how it would end?"

Gideon's face almost remains composed, but you catch a slight quiver of his chin as you question him. His voice, however, sounds calm and justified as he replies, "I thought I could save you. I thought if you knew that someone gave a damn about you, then you wouldn't want to follow your parents' plans."

You don't know what's come over you, but you say, "I can't be saved," and then you laugh. It's a cold and foreign sound, nothing at all like your usual bark-like one. And before you realize what is happening, the laugh turns into a cry and suddenly Gideon's arms are wrapped around you and you're shaking uncontrollably against him. Your head is leaning on his shoulder, one of his hands is patting your head soothingly, and his other arm is hooked around your middle. He's whispering these words, trying to tell you that it'll be okay, that everything will be okay, but you can barely hear him over your audible cries. You don't know how long you stay like this, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but it feels like forever.

Gideon doesn't release you once you've gained some type of control over yourself. He continues to hold you, gently and silently rocking back and forth. This silence is broken when you whisper, your voice hoarse, "I couldn't say no to them... I didn't know what else to do..."

"I understand."

"It wasn't easy for me, like it was for Sirius... I couldn't just let them down like he did. But I don't want to do this - I don't want to become one of them."

"Then don't. We can leave." His tone is as sincere as it was the day before when he first mentioned the idea of going to some distant place, but you still know it's not an option - no matter how appealing it might seem.

"Everything's already planned for tonight. I can't just not show..."

He doesn't reply and the silence creeps up on you as time drags you apart. You can hear the steady tick of the kitchen clock counting down your few remaining moments with him. You would give almost anything in the world just to stay here in his arms for forever, anything but the one thing that is making you leave (the possibility of your parents finally being proud of you - truly loving you).

"I better go...," you finally force yourself to say.

He slowly and unwillingly unwraps his arms from around you, his attempt to protect you from your fate all done in vain. Hints of tears glaze over his eyes as you rise from the bed, sealing your future. You linger in front of him for a moment before quickly leaning back towards him and sharing a chaste kiss - one that you're sure will be your last.

With a heavy heart and a slight nod of the head, you turn and take your packed bag in one hand and then start toward the door. Before you can leave the room, you hear him say, "Will you come back tomorrow...? Or before you leave to Hogwarts?"

Your stomach twists. "I don't think it would be a good idea" comes almost mechanically from your lips before you continue to the front door.

With one hand on the knob, you hear him move behind you into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He says, in a voice low and defeated, "I love you...still."

You shut the door behind you.

**xxx**

The heavy downpour soaks your clothes and blurs your vision, but you trudge on.

The pain radiating from your branded arm is nearly paralyzing, but you trudge on.

You don't even know or care where your feet bring you as long as it's not to your doorstep. Your mind is in such a frenzy and you can barely stay on your feet as the pain in your arms makes you want to do nothing more than fall to your knees and scream.

You can feel it. You can feel the Mark establishing itself as a part of you - taking you over slowly. You are no longer Regulus Black (he's the boy who died this evening).

You're merely just another Death Eater.

**xxx**

You take up smoking cigarettes.

You hate their smell. You hate their taste. You hate the way they feel between your fingers.

And yet, they're the only things that rid you of _his_ smell, _his_ taste, the way _his_ fingers felt between your own.

If only they could eat away at your memories. That way you could just forget.

**xxx**

But you can't forget and by the letter resting unopened on your lap, it seems as though he can't forget either.

Your trembling fingers trace over the shaky and ungraceful curves of his letters on the envelope and slowly make their way up to the corner. You pause before shaking your head and getting up. You hide the letter at the bottom of your trunk, right above the photo of the two of you and the drawing Bill gave to you.

You can't bear to look at these things, yet you can't bear to toss them away.

So you hide them.

**xxx**

Sooner than later you're back on the train. The compartments are all sickeningly soaked with reminders of him and you hate it. You can picture the day as though it were yesterday, with him sitting across from you, not speaking because you had missed his graduation, his bottom lip jutted out to the slightest degree.

And the same thing happens through the castle once you arrive. The library, the Great Hall, the narrow corridors, just everywhere holds memories of him, memories of happiness. You can't walk into the dormitory without being flooded with visions of the Christmas morning spent in your bed and the Christmas night spent in that makeshift blanket tent of his.

These memories are killing you.

And the more you try to forget him, the more you remember him. The more you try to hate him (because he knew, he _fucking_ knew), the more you miss him. The more you try to separate yourself from him, the more you realize how much you need him.

There's no breaking away, there's no way for you to feel anything without linking it back to him, so you give up. You throw away your emotions, you flick the switch on happiness, caring, anger, love, just everything and become the machine that your brother had once warned you against.

**xxx**

You become friends with Crouch...sort of.

He's seen your Mark, he tells you one day, and - even though you simply raised your eyebrows and walked away - the younger boy has taken your lack of a response as a sign of friendship.

You don't say much one way or the other, though, because he knows how to get cigarettes into the castle.

Sometimes you pity him - with as much pity as you can muster without truly caring. He confides in you these secrets about his father always being there and his mother always being here, but never with him. He tells you he sees the circle of Death Eaters as a sort of family and wishes to join them someday. Most people would pass this off as the childish ramblings of a lonely sixth year, but you can see the truth in his words. He honestly believes taking on the Mark will get him the closeness of a family for which he longs.

Oh, how he is sadly mistaken.

**xxx**

The last wisps of what remains of autumn are carried away in the breeze that ruffles your hair and chills your legs. You both sit on the sill of an open window in some abandoned room on the sixth floor, your legs dangling, smoke rolling off your tongues. The height had unnerved Barty at first, but he soon took the spot beside you.

You raise the cigarette to your cracking lips and take a long drag in before blowing the smoke into the other boy's face. His milky skin gives off this ghost-like quality as the smoke clouds around him and he scrunches his dark eyes shut. You turn away from him and look out at the grounds below you, at the scurrying, ant-size people hurrying to their next class or next fling or wherever their feet wish to take them. "I wonder how many cigarettes it would take to kill you," you say, your voice so light that it's almost swept away by the wind before it can reach the younger boy's ears.

He shrugs. "Quicker just to jump from here."

"That's an idea."

Barty looks at you strangely, his light brow drawing together as he ponders your words. "Why would you want to die?"

"Why would you want to live?"

He pauses. "Why wouldn't you want to live?" For some reason that you don't understand, he seems to think that if he rewords a question, you'll answer it. It's a trick that he's tried and with which he's failed many times before.

You inhale again on the crumbling cigarette and release the smoke in tiny o-shaped rings, something at which Barty always marvels and envies. You smile to yourself as you say, "I'm already dead, didn't know you?" and you swing your legs back to the floor and leave him sitting in the window alone.

**xxx**

It's Christmas night and you sit across from him on his bed. You both had stayed behind at the castle, similar wishes not to see your families in both of your minds. He holds a cigarette in that odd way that always bothers you and you lazily lean against one of the bedposts.

His eyes are trained on something floating in the air that either is not there or not visible to you. You watch him absently, in half-daydream, studying the way his lips flow thick to thin and back again, the way his pupils are nearly invisible in the darkness of his eyes, the way the light from a candle warms his strong jawline.

"What are you looking at?" he suddenly demands, freeing you from your captivating reverie.

"You."

"Oh."

You catch the slightest glimpse of warmth creeping up on his cheeks. His fingers have the slightest tremble to them as they slowly raise his cigarette to his lips and the blush spreads as he draws in on an unlit cigarette. This makes you laugh and, with a raise of your eyebrows, you hold the lighter up in your hand, spinning the wheel so the flame shoots from the top. You don't move from your spot on the other side of the bed so he has to slide toward you, his shaky arm reaching forward and putting the tip of the stick into the fire. Once it's lit, he looks up at you slowly and before either of you quite realize it's happening, his lips are on yours or yours are on his.

The first thing that runs through your mind is that it feels off, like putting a shoe on the wrong foot. His lips are clumsy and inexperienced and you can feel them shake against yours like the fluttering of butterfly wings. He tastes of smoke and peppermint, mixing bitterly and feeling foreign on your tongue. His hand feels too small, the skin on the undersides of his fingers too soft as he cups your cheek with them.

He's the first to pull away, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated, the heat taking over his whole face. "I've never kissed a boy," he says, the first thing coming to mind and out of his nervous lips.

You don't answer him and instead busy yourself with fishing a cigarette from the carton and lighting it. He looks scared and you can't help but recall the day when Gideon had almost kissed you on the Quidditch Pitch. "It was just a kiss."

Barty doesn't look reassured. "...but what if I liked it?"

"What if?"

He fiddles with a loose strand of thread on his bedspread, twisting it around his finger, cutting off the circulation, and then freeing it over and over again. His lips part and then snap shut a few times before he finally asks, "Can I kiss you again?"

Your grey eyes narrow, but you lean toward him after taking a drag on your cigarette. Right before your lips touch, you blow the smoke in his face and say, "You shouldn't ask permission to kiss someone...it's weird."

**xxx**

Although it is December, there is a slight warm spell flowing across the country that makes it tolerable to be outside and so you practice Quidditch by yourself at times. You're lying across one of the locker room's benches, only wearing a pair of shorts, puffing rings into the air. You watch as they hit the ceiling and disappear and don't even notice you're not alone until he takes a seat beside your head.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks.

You look up at him and can see that he's trying to fix his eyes on anything in the room that isn't close to you, but they seem to return on their own accord before moving away quickly again. He moves his leg over the bench, straddling it, so that he can lean against the wall and look up at the ceiling. "I'm always cold." You raise your smoke up, offering it to him, and he leans towards it, sucking in slowly. This time, he's the one to exhale the cloud down at you and you cough.

As the smoke mixes with the air and clears from your eyes, you feel the tentative touch of his smooth fingers grazing your jawline. You sigh and close your eyes, giving him silent permission to continue. He traces his way across your cheek and down your neck, then slowly slides across the length of your collarbone. They stop there and you feel him shift closer and then press his lips against your own before pulling away quickly.

"That wasn't much of a kiss," you tease as you sit up. He looks at you, a shy smile making an appearance. You move closer to him, kneeling on the bench between his legs and kiss him again. You hear him moan and it stirs up this dormant feeling in the pit of your stomach, in the depths of your being and you find yourself wanting more. You deepen the kiss, ramming him roughly against the wall behind him and he whimpers. His too-small hands reach for you, meeting your bare skin and bringing you even closer to him. They explore your body slowly, not knowing where to go and hesitating before touching, as if you are off limits.

And this, this is all so different than what you've experienced with Gideon. Now there's only lust where love had been, a need with no passion and no feelings behind it.

**xxx**

"Regulus..."

The two of you lie beneath a blanket, naked skin on the cold floor of a room that's use is known to almost everyone in Slytherin. Two piles of cigarettes lay on one side of you (smoked and yet to be smoked) and on the other side is Barty. There's always a gap between you and him afterwards, a gap you won't cross and he doesn't dare try. The kind of gap that's meant to be filled with gentle caresses, his head on your chest, sentiments of something in which you no longer believe.

"Mhm?"

"Do you love me?" The frailness of hope lingering on every word.

"No." It shatters.

You don't need to be looking at him to know that his face fell. You can feel him shift, pulling the blankets closer to his body, his breath catching.

"You don't?"

You sigh and push a cigarette butt against the floor before retrieving and lighting up a new one. "I don't love anyone - not even myself." You turn over and look at him, the expression that holds his face telling you that he doesn't understand, that he can't understand. But you can see the shadow of your old self in him, that longing for some sort of care, not caring what it takes to earn it. But your truth won't push him away, just as your mother's strikes didn't push you away, because he feels accepted by you (and you knew someday you would feel accepted by her). He'll settle for acceptance because it's better than being alone and with acceptance comes this deluded form of love. The same love he'll find in the Death Eaters - the kind he can pretend is just out of reach when it was never there at all.

**xxx**

You know you shouldn't drink. Smoking is one thing, but put a little alcohol in your system and you become this emotional wreck (which is at least better than the violent your father often became).

Luckily for you (and your secrets), you dumped the firewhiskey before you had too much. But despite the amount, you get this terrible idea stuck in your head about how you desperately want to hear from Gideon. It's just a little question you want to ask - one that you've asked before, but you are sure the answer has changed since then.

You make a mess searching for a quill and piece of parchment, but none of that even matters to you. You just want to get this letter sent before you've sobered up enough to change your mind. You sit on your bed, parchment rolled out on your lap, trying to keep your hand steady enough to scratch the sentence down.

You tie it and run, full sprint, to the Owlery. You are unable to keep that pace the whole way, your habit affecting your lungs. Coughing violently, your head light and dizzy, you climb the stairs to the top of the tower where Conant usually perches. He comes down when you hold out your arm and you fumble with attaching the letter to his outstretched leg.

A sense of regret and dread hits you as you watch him fly away into the sky. On his leg, that question, those seven words ("_Do you still think that love lasts?_") are out of your grasp. It's too late now to realize how badly you do not want to know the answer.

**xxx**

You just sit there, staring at the outside of the scroll. You run your fingers over the string and it's almost like touching his hand again. You know you shouldn't open it, you know that no matter what his answer is it's going to hurt you - it's going to make you feel again.

You close your eyes and blindly pull the string, leaving the parchment to unroll itself. You hold your breath and slowly open your eyes.

_"Of course."_

**xxx**

Barty, however, cherishes the intoxicated you.

"I like you...a lot," you say through slurred words as you look up at him. Your head is rested on his lap, his fingers absently combing through your dark locks. These are the only moments when you let him hold you, when you let him be close to you, when you make him feel as though he matters.

He looks down at you and shakes his head. "You're just drunk," he says, but through your glassy eyes you can still detect the smallest trace of a grin on his lips.

"I'm not-," you begin to object, but you suddenly sit up, a sickly warm feeling filling your stomach. Barty scrambles to grab the wastebasket and places it in front of you just in time for you to empty the contents of your stomach. He kneels beside you, soothingly rubbing your back. "Fuck," you say once you're done, the nauseous feeling still lingering throughout your whole body. You lean back against him, your throbbing head trying to find comfort on his shoulder. You arch your neck and try to kiss him, but he moves away. "Why won't you kiss me?" you half-whine, half-slur.

"You just puked - I'm not kissing you."

You laugh and spin quickly around, tackling him to the floor and moving over him. With one knee and one hand on either side of him, you grin mischievously down at him. Barty looks momentarily puzzled but quickly realizes what you're doing and clasps his hands over his mouth. He does this just in time and your lips end up colliding with his hands instead of their intended destination. He keeps them there, even once you pull back.

"You're terrible," he says, his words muffled.

You smirk and move off him, lying on the floor alongside him. You rest your head in the crook of his arm. With his other hand, he pushes the dark curtain of hair from your face and smiles. "It's your fault, though," you tell him. "You don't care about me enough to stop me from drinking." You know this is far from the truth, that despite his liking of you being drunk, he had tried to take away your alcohol earlier in the day. But the words tumble from your mouth anyway. Maybe you want him to feel bad, to feel guilty...no that's not it. You just want to hear what he says next:

"I care about you, Regulus."

You squirm closer to him. "You don't need me, though." You hate that you do this, that you say these things, that you find some sort of comfort in his words. You're no better than he is - you're both just scared little boys longing for acceptance and love who instead are filling yourselves with emptiness to numb the pain. You have your alcohol and cigarettes and him, and he has you. You hate them but desperately crave them all at the same time.

And with his "I need you so much," you're sure he feels the exact same way.

**xxx**

Cold and sober, everything goes back to the way it usually is. No mention of the lines crossed, no mention of the time he spent holding you, no mention of your desperate words. It's just you and him with miles of distance between you two...who are but held together by a common addiction.

Barty tries to break down these barriers, to try and get closer to you in his own way. He does this in such a casual manner that you never seem to suspect it until the words leave his mouth, seemingly out of the blue, but at the same time part of the conversation.

"Have you ever loved anyone?"

You bring your cigarette to your lips and look up into the sky when he asks this question. Your hair runs through the grass, circling your head and forming this dark halo, the fresh smell of spring mixing with the bitter smoke in the air. "My brother and..." You stop and turn your head toward him with a short laugh. You reach over and tap his nose. "You almost got me there."

"And who? You can tell me..."

You shake your head. "That's where you're wrong, Barty."

"You can trust me," he urges.

"It's not about trust - it's just none of your fucking business."

He pauses, a hurt expression crosses his face. "Was it a guy?"

"Well, it's not a girl."

Barty doesn't say anything in reply. You shut your eyes and soak in the hope that spring seems to bring along with it, not matter how false it may be. It makes you feel as though you almost have the chance of a future, as though your existence isn't damned by the Mark on your arm, as though you could be happy.

"But you said you didn't love anyone..."

You sigh with annoyance as his words break the almost blissful reverie that had possessed you. "Well, I lied."

"Is that why you don't love me? Because you still love him?"

"It's more because I just can't fucking stand you."

These words bring along a reaction that you hadn't at all expected. Barty leaves. He, in one swift movement, is on his feet and going back to the castle. You sit up and watch him go, making no attempt to call him back.

**xxx**

You skip your last class of the day to find him. School has taken a much less important place in your life lately. You can't even recall the last time you were in the library studying or the last time you actually put effort into schoolwork. It just doesn't seem to matter anymore.

First you check the classroom in which he should be: Potions. You brazenly open the door and interrupt Slughorn's lesson. He turns to you, his face breaking into a grin.

"Mr. Black, m'boy, can I help you?"

"Professor Flitwick asked me to get Barty for him. Said something about Remedial Charms."

The whole class looks over at Barty and snickers. You see him shift uncomfortably in his chair and then he gives you as angry a look as he can possibly muster. Slughorn clears his throat, quieting the class, and then dismisses Barty with a nod in his direction.

You wait for him outside the door, but once he exits the classroom he dashes ahead of you. You watch him go in the direction of the common room and, with a sigh, you trail behind him at a leisurely pace. You hope he's going where you think because you've no interest in trying to find him all over the castle.

"Leave me alone."

The curtains around his four-poster bed are pulled shut and you linger outside them for a little while. You can hear his breath, his sharp inhalations and his shaking exhalations. You reach out and push the curtain aside, dismissing his demand and joining him on the bed.

He's sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin, his straw-colored hair dangling in front of his face. You can see a tear swim down the length of his nose and another catch in the depression of his chin. You move towards him, lowering your head and capturing his saltwater lips. They tremble against yours for a second, but then he pulls away.

"I can't do this anymore."

"Do what? You can't be friends?"

"See - _that_," he says, his voice more annoyed and hurt than you've ever before heard it. "I can't have you fuck me, then tell me you can't stand me, then kiss me, and then say we're friends."

You almost wish you could say that hearing his words hurt, that hearing his words opened your eyes to the situation, that hearing his words made you want to fix things. But his words did none of that. "Well, what do you want from me? What do you want me to say?"

He pauses and brings his too-dark eyes up to yours. "I just want you to love me."

Even though you've known this all along, it sounds strange to hear the words coming openly from his mouth. And what he wants is too much for you; you have no love left to give him. Besides, the addict never loves the addiction - that's just not how it works. "You know I can't do that."

Barty nods his head.

So as you leave his bed, it hits you that you're alone once again.

But it doesn't hurt this time.

**xxx**

There's something very fulfilling about being alone.

You can't hurt anybody if nobody's there.

You can't let anybody down if nobody's there.

It's just you against the world (against yourself) and nobody cares who wins the battle. Nobody cares whether you smoke your lungs black or drink yourself into a comatose state. Nobody cares that you haven't passed in schoolwork for days or that you haven't eaten in just as long.

Some days you wonder if anyone would care if you just disappeared.

You're sure no one would.

**xxx**

Despite the beautiful warmth that the June day brings, you're shivering as though you had been doused in iced water. Your eyes are closed, your back leaning uncomfortably against the exterior wall of the castle. You blindly guide a cigarette to your lips, trying to inhale the calmness that it once gave you.

This day has unnerved you almost more than any other. Your graduation went on without your attendance because you couldn't bear to be there. Hogwarts has kept you safe from the Dark Lord - even though you carry his Mark - but now the castle has let you go. You'll be back home in a world in of which you have no wish to take part. This surreal game will become your reality.

And it scares you.

**xxx**

You were stupid to believe that it would change everything.

You were stupid to believe that by inking your arm your parents would finally accept you.

Home is the same. It's lonely and unwelcoming with no trace of love lurking around the corner. Your father's door remains shut and his blood remains thinned by alcohol. Your mother's hand remains at the ready and her words remain as sharp as ever.

The only thing that has changed is you.

You've gone from being a sweet prince to a little monster burdened with heavy things for which you never asked. And now all you have to look forward to are the consequences that come along with your naïve yearning.

**xxx**

It's your first mission.

Everything is in this crazed and panicked state. Spells are shooting this way, jinxes are shooting that way, and you're just caught in the middle of it all. Passion doesn't drive you to fight, but the need to survive the night does. Never do you utter an Unforgivable Curse and never do you plan to use one. You have enough on your shoulders; you don't need blood on your hands.

At this point you don't even remember what the point of the mission is - all that fills your mind is that you just want to get out of here. You fire a curse at this wizard and you grimace when it knocks him out cold. You hurry into the next room and then continue onto the one after that.

The scene which awaits you there is what makes you forget everything and act on impulse.

Lying on the floor is this hauntingly familiar figure. He's on his back, his red locks plastered by sweat to his face, and he's withering in pain. No screams leave his mouth, but you can tell he's using everything in his power to fight them back, to keep the satisfaction of his pain from the Death Eater.

In an instant, you cast a Stunning Spell and it hits its target. The Death Eater crumples and you know you'll be punished severely for your actions (even when passed off as a mistake), but you don't care. All that matters to you is freeing that wizard from his pain.

Fabian slowly rises to his feet and points his wand at you.

You drop yours because you know you could never hurt him, no matter how much hate has passed between the two of you.

He pauses before nodding his head once and exiting the room through another door.

**xxx**

You surely pay the price for your actions.

You had expected and received the Cruciatus Curse from the Dark Lord himself. And even though the pain was excruciating and the punishment was carried out in front of your fellows, it was nothing compared to the second half of the ordeal.

Another mission, another nightmare.

You walk through the house of someone who somehow angered the Dark Lord and whose family is to pay the price.

The husband and wife are secured on the floor with magicked bonds. You had been expecting just to have to tag along, to shield your eyes from the cruel reality that comes with your Mark, but the Dark Lord had different plans. Bellatrix brings the young child in front of you.

"You're to kill her." There's a sick sort of smirk that reveals the brightness of her teeth and makes you shudder.

The parents' muffled screams fill the room and your head spins. The child, a girl no older than Bill, stares up at your masked face. No tears fill her eyes, but fear is explicit in her every feature. You just want to cry for her, to scream for her, but you close your eyes and shut those feelings off. You know that if you don't do it, then another will, and that other will do worse things to punish the child's parent. You exhale and slowly try to justify it to yourself.

You take a step back.

You raise your wand.

Your hand trembles.

The second the curse touches her, she crumples soundlessly to the floor.

And you bolt to the door.

**xxx**

There's no glory in fighting for this side.

Sirius has glory. Gideon has glory. Fuck, even Pettigrew has glory.

But not you. All you have is guilt.

Ever since that night you stole that child's life away, you've been haunted by it. Her face flashes before your eyes. Her parents' agonizing screams echo in your ears. It torments your every move, your every thought, your every everything.

And so you just shut off your feelings once again.

It's not as easy as it once was for you. You can't smoke away those screams, you can't smoke away that face (but _Merlin_, you can try).

It's one cigarette after the other, the smoke exiting the open window beside your chair. The cold night air sweeps through, freezing your skin, and you wish it could freeze your heart and brain as well. Everything would be much easier that way. No feelings to hold back, no thoughts to haunt you. It would be pure bliss.

But the thoughts come and, in particular, this one thought that's been returning ever since that haunting night. The thought of when all this will be over with and whether you'll be around to see the day it all ends.

You don't think so.

**xxx**

Immortality.

Tonight, Voldemort made a claim to immortality.

It went as unnoticed by the others as a moth in the night's sky, but you heard it, it caught your attention. You wonder how many times he's mentioned it before, how much information surrounding this slip you might have missed.

Immortality.

It's not a subject you know much about, but it goes hand-in-hand with something else. Something unmentionable by most wizards, something you would've once believed Voldemort incapable of carrying out, but you've seen too much to put anything past him now.

Horcruxes.

**xxx**

Sometimes you take out that photograph to see if you're still able to feel anything.

Sometimes you take out that photograph to prove to yourself it all wasn't just a dream.

It's during those late nights and early mornings that you sit on the edge of your bed and clutch the picture in your hands. You stare at your face and it's almost as though you're looking at a different person (and, in a way, you are). This one, he has traces of happiness on his face, he's not skeleton-like with protruding bones poking against his ill-colored skin, he's not alone. He's the exact opposite of you in all but one way: you both still love that other wizard in the photo.

Once you tear your gaze away from your former being, you trace Gideon's face over and over again; but there's nothing less satisfying than the feel of glossy finish when you long for warm skin. You memorize the list on the back of the Polaroid, not just the words, but the twists and turns of each letter, the slanted crossed T's and the barely dotted I's. Sometimes you wonder if he'd make the same list of reasons, if given the chance, or if the only one he'd write would be "Because I have to" or maybe he wouldn't write any at all. Sometimes you wonder if he misses you as much as you miss him or if he doesn't even think about you any longer. Sometimes you wonder if he longs for your touch or if he's just disgusted by the thought of you. Sometimes you wonder if he takes out those Polaroids and feels the same nostalgia that plagues you or if he's thrown them all away.

Your mind overflows with these questions and thoughts and your heart longs for proximity to his whenever you bring out that damn photograph. It hurts so much, but at the same time it's rather gratifying and reassuring because at least you feel something. At least you know that your lord (you've no respect for him anymore) hasn't taken away everything from you.

Voldemort can break and bruise you. He can torture and use you as though you are another meaningless pawn in his war. He can make you despise yourself more than you could ever despise him.

But he can't take your memories.

But he can't take your love.

(And that's what keeps you going.)

**xxx**

He can try, though.

Voldemort announced his need for a house-elf. The task at hand was not explained in detail, but you had an ill feeling about it. You hadn't wanted Kreacher to go with him, but Bellatrix had volunteered your house-elf and you couldn't refuse. So you did the only thing you could do and told him just to return home.

Kreacher came home.

Kreacher told you everything.

Of course he didn't exactly know what was going on, but you did. You could put the information together and the answer to it was very obvious to you. You knew all along, ever since that slip-up at the Malfoy Manor, but now it seems much more real.

Now you know where one is.

Now you have to decide what to do with it.

**xxx**

Once Kreacher is well enough, you begin to question him more thoroughly. You need to know everything and then go on from there.

The Horcrux is a locket.

That poses no problem to you, not really. From Kreacher's description of the locket, it sounds simple enough to duplicate.

The location is surrounded by water.

You were bothered by this at first, but you've come to the conclusion that Kreacher can take you directly to the island inside the cave. There will be no need to swim.

The potion has to be drunk in order to reach the locket.

Kreacher offered to drink it once more and you neither accepted nor declined this offer. You know you won't let him, but if you had told him that, you're not sure if he would still bring you.

There's no escaping the ranks of the Death Eaters.

You'll deal with that later.

**xxx**

You only attend one last Death Eater meeting.

All of Voldemort's words are just a buzz in your ears. You don't listen to him because you don't care - because you don't have to anymore. The only reason you even went there is that your absence might've raised suspicion and you're not quite ready for that yet.

It's a glorious feeling to look at him and know his secret.

It's a glorious feeling to know that he's afraid of death and that you'll be the one who will bring him closer to that fear.

And he doesn't suspect a thing.

**xxx**

You'll be leaving a night from now.

Anxiety, fear, and triumph fill you all at the same time, but so does something else.

You have been so occupied with getting things set that you hadn't even thought about him in awhile. But now that he's in your mind once more, you can't push him away.

You can't help but think that this is your last chance.

You pace around your bedroom, a cigarette hanging between your lips, and you go over all of the possible scenarios in your head. Sometimes it seems like a great idea and sometimes it seems like the worst thing ever to come to your mind. And that's when you freeze in place, one foot hovering just above the wooden floor.

You go to your old school trunk at the foot of your bed. You sift through the meaningless papers until you get to the bottom. Among the broken quills and scraps of parchment is an unopened envelope - one that you received over a year ago.

You take it in your hands and slowly tear the sealing. Inside is a small piece of parchment, not really what you had expected. Written in a handwriting that you could recognize among a million others is an address and underneath it are the words "_in case you ever need me._"

You do need him.

You can't help but think that this is a bad idea. What if he doesn't even live here anymore? What if he doesn't want to see you? What if there's someone else there?

These questions are running through your mind and you just try to shake them off long enough to make yourself knock on the door. You raise your fist slowly but end up stuffing your hand into your pocket and fishing out a cigarette instead. Once it's lit, you breath in the calmness and then exhale it into the late August sky. It disappears, but the smell still lingers. You finish the cigarette and then whirl quickly around, pounding on the door a single time before your mind can stop you.

Your stomach crawls with butterflies and nausea and all that fills your ears is the beating of your heart as you await him. You are just about ready to leave when you hear his footsteps and oh, they must be his - you would know them anywhere.

You hold your breath as he stops at the door (there's only a door, about three inches of material, separating you from him) and his proximity is almost overwhelming. He looks through the peephole and then the door flies open.

There, in front of you, with no barrier between you, Gideon stands. His lips are parted with surprised and you're searching his face for any sign of disgust, of hate, of repulsion, but there's none to be found.

You realize that you never thought about what you wanted to say to him or how you were going to explain your situation. So all that comes to mind is his name and even that stutters off your lips. "Gid - Gideon..."

He steps toward you, his arms slightly out, almost as though he's going to take you in them. But he catches himself almost immediately, but not quite quick enough to go unnoticed. "What are you doing here?" His voice sounds concerned and surprised.

"Tomorrow," you say and then you pause, trying to think how to word it. "Tomorrow, I'll defect from the Death Eaters and I just wanted - I just needed to see you again."

Gideon looks at you strangely, that brow of his drawing inwards. "But you can't..." And he trails off, your solemn look answering his doubt. "Oh." He hesitates before moving over and letting you inside his home.

It's the exact same as it was over a year ago. As you look around, the only difference that you can notice is the absence of the pile of pictures on the coffee table. You see Basil's tail in the kitchen as she darts from the living room. You sit down on the same couch and he sits down in the same armchair.

It's quiet and you can feel him watching you, you can feel him noting all the ways you've changed. But he doesn't mention them and instead he says, "I heard about what you did for Fabian."

You wonder if he's heard about what you did to that child, to those innocent Muggles, but you push those thoughts from your mind. "Oh."

"You know what he said?"

You shake your head.

"At first he swore you had confused him with me. He was determined that you never would've saved him. But then, a few days later, out of nowhere, he told me that he wishes things could've been different for you." He pauses before saying, "What's going to happen?"

You wish you could tell him everything - about the Horcrux, about your plan - but you know you can't. The knowledge would possibly endanger him and that's something you don't want to do. "I can't tell you the details, but there are two ways that the plan can go. Both ways, I'll no longer be a Death Eater and one way, I'll -" You stop. It's always been there in the back of your mind, but there's something haunting about saying it aloud. "One way, I'll be dead."

Gideon stands up as soon as you say this, searching for permission and you nod your head once. He comes over and sits beside you. His hand slowly reaches forward, his just right fingers cupping your cheek and you lean into the touch. It's the slightest gesture of affection, but it's almost the closest you've ever felt to him. Your eyes close and it's like déjà vu because your tears are flowing and his arms are suddenly wrapped around you and you don't even know how or when any of it happened. He presses you close to him and your nose is filled with nothing but the sweetly familiar smell of him and your head is rested against that familiar chest of his and his soothingly familiar words fill your ears. You're shaking against him and never before did you imagine you could ever be so happy and so near death at the same time, but you are.

"It's going to be fine, Reg." His hand rubs circles on your back. "I'll go with you. We'll both come back and everything will be as it used to be and the Order can put you in hiding. It'll be okay. You know it will be okay, right?" And then suddenly his words stop and that's when you hear his breathing stutter and then you feel his tears roll down into your hair. He pulls slightly away only to take your cheeks in his hands and press his lips against yours. You've forgotten what it's like to feel so right and you hate that all he'll taste is the last cigarette on your tongue. That thought only lasts a second in your mind, though, because it's quickly only occupied by thoughts of him and the feel of his lips. He kisses your gaunt cheeks and your nose and your forehead and then your lips again. It's frantic, but it's comforting and you've never cherished his lips more than in this moment. He stops and brings you back into his arms, holding you securely but at the same time as though you are the most fragile thing in existence.

You stay like that for an immeasurable amount of time. You wish that you could stay like that forever, but you've learned that wishing for forever is pointless when you more than likely don't even have twenty-four hours.

"You can't come with me," you finally manage to say.

He doesn't say anything.

You move out of his arms. A frown is on his face and it doesn't disappear when you take one of his hands in your own.

"You said there's a chance of you coming back? Where will you go then?"

You wish you could tell him that there's barely a chance of it, but the thought of cutting off all hope is a little too much for you. Besides, you don't really know what to expect in that cave. "I'll come here."

Gideon looks at you as though he doesn't believe you but he says nothing. "Will you stay the night - just for tonight?"

The offer is tempting and the thought of spending what may be your last night in his arms is hard to refuse, but you shake your head. "I don't think I could bring myself to leave if I did that..."

He smiles that smile of his, but it looks out-of-place amidst all the sadness he's wearing on his face. It's silent for a moment and then he says, "I never stopped loving you, you know? ...and I never will."

You nod your head.

"And I'll see you again soon enough...one way or another."

"Gid-"

He cuts you off: "You know as well as I do that Fab and I are up there on You-Know-Who's list."

And it's true, but it doesn't make it any easier to hear. Speaking of your own death is one thing, but the thought of him dying is something you can't handle. But all you say is "I love you" because it's true and because denying the possibility of Gideon's death would just be a meaningless lie. "I have to leave, though...get things in order..."

You both stand up and he takes you once again in his arms. The embrace breaks apart and he pulls you into a deep kiss and you're just thankful to feel that love one last time. His face stays nears yours when the kiss is over, your noses lightly touching. His eyes are your favorite shade of blue, but you hate to seem them swimming in tears because of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

He shakes his head. "Just come back tomorrow."

**xxx**

Your parents don't even look you in the eye.

They've made you this way but are disgusted. They never realized how far Voldemort was willing to go in his quest for power and the thought of what you've done is too much for them.

They almost hate you as much as they hate Sirius. They don't say it, but they don't have to - you know it's true.

Even though you announce that you're leaving, something that you never do, neither of them look up from their work, neither of them respond.

You wonder if they would've reacted any differently if they knew where you are going, if they knew there is a high chance of you never returning.

You don't think so.

**xxx**

You're so thirsty.

Kreacher's pleading with you, trying to pull you away from the water's edge, but it's all in vain. His strength isn't enough. "Master Regulus, please!" he chokes out.

But it's too late.

The second the water touches your lips, two hands shoot out and pull you into the water. At first, you flail and try to get away, but then you remember you couldn't swim to the island even if you wanted to - then you realize there's no chance of survival.

The two hands turn into countless ones and you stop struggling against them. Your elbow is pulled down onto your leg and you can feel the now soggy Polaroid that you had placed in your pocket earlier that night. You open your grey eyes and exhale your last breath into the icy water. It escapes from you in the form of bubbles, flying to a surface you'll never see again.

Your head's dizzy and your vision is blacking out. You know it'll be all over soon and you would be lying to say you aren't afraid, but you would be lying to say you aren't happy.

You'll be free of the misery that your life's become.

You just hope that your life will be enough to make up for the ones you took.

You just hope that this will be enough to get you wherever Gideon's going.

And as your body grows numb and heavy and nothing feels wet or dry or safe or scary anymore...your last wish is simply that Gideon..._doesn't_ join you too soon. You love him too much for that.

* * *

**I've been working on this story since the 25th of September. It's become my baby and I just can't believe it's finished. And I can't believe it turned out this long. I had expected it to be about 10k, but 27k! I almost died when I saw that.**

**So, yes, this is the first and hopefully not the last (actually, I know it's not the last because mew has one waiting to be posted as well) Regulus/Gideon story on fanfiction. It's now apart of Mew and Mor's Weird Pairings and it would be appreciated if you gave a brief mention to M&MWP if you were to write this pairing. There will even be a special thread on our forum for you to post/promote your story and we will all read it and adore you forever and so on and so forth.**

**I would appreciate it if you do not favorite without reviewing!  
**

**I want to give a HUGE thanks to mew! She has not only been betaing this beast of a story since September, but she has also helped me with parts, helped me with the title, and just put up with me in general. *gives her a sundae 'cause I want her to write another Jamdy fic* BUT, that's a whole different matter, I suppose. *pokes mew***

**;P**


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